Pastoral
by sunny-bear
Summary: Judy Hopps joined the Zootopia Police Department to make the world a better place. This is easier said than done. Two years after cracking Dawn Bellwether's plot, Judy encounters a series of murders which make her childhood dream seem impossible. Crushed by the contents of the case, it will take a change of scenery to help her become whole again.
1. Chapter 1

Here is a fact about Judy Hopps: she was a mammal who felt strongly, deeply, and intimately. She had a big heart. It's what made her want to dedicate her life to justice and safety, to making the world a better place. The ever present swell of emotion in her chest made her want to do right. She wanted to make a difference— she wanted to be a hero. Seeing mammals in danger, hurting, or unsafe, she leapt upon them; figuratively and sometimes literally. It was hard for her not to get involved and to empathize with the world around her. Judy did not see it as a bad thing. She always appreciated this sensitive side of herself. She felt proud that she had not become hardened and scared of the wide world like her parents, like so many of the mammals in her hometown.

It could be a good quality for a cop. Seeing a fox just wanting to buy a popsicle for his dreaming child, she felt for him with a strength that _required_ her to intervene. She was a righteous advocate for equal treatment, if only for one little fox who wanted to be an elephant. She saw a sweet little otter longing only for her husband in her arms, for a father to her pups, and she could not even think of restraining herself from providing aid.

It could be a bad quality for a cop. Her emotions got her into trouble sometimes. In a field where one can be witness to the most heinous of crimes, it is not exactly ideal to be so emotional, to be so swayed by what happens in the world around you. What she saw the horrors of what other mammals could do, she was affected much more than her fellow officers. At times like that, she saw her feelings as a sort of weakness. She felt like those who discouraged her for all those years may have had some truth in their hateful and ignorant words. Bunnies, _so_ dramatic, right? When she was happy, her whole world lit up, it was like a song, perfection was attainable. Nothing could bring her down. Conversely, sadness, the occasional feelings of worthlessness, they drained her completely. Her heart would eat her up and drag her down until she wished she was in a sort state where she felt nothing. In her line of work, it was rough. When you feel so acutely, it's hard to cope. It's hard to compartmentalize.

Judy Hopps was very bad at compartmentalizing. Her feelings, her thoughts mixed themselves up like a hard-to-stomach drink, twisted themselves up like a sticky piece of taffy that stuck to her teeth. Her peers and coworkers, they did a much better job of it. They could separate their work and their lives. They could see truly gruesome things, things to make the stomach turn. Then they could drive home at five o'clock, singing along quietly to the radio and acting like they were coming home from just any old office job. They were calm and sober on the scene, going about their work diligently. They did not take pleasure in it, but they were not horrified like she was. They could handle it just fine. She could move around a crime scene, but it always left its mark. It would keep her awake at night, flashing behind her eyelids as she listened to her neighbors fight and felt the building creak and groan and settle around her. There were bruised, mangled bodies. Dead ones too. There were pups, kits, and cubs abandoned by their parents. Walls pockmarked with bullet holes, splattered with red and grey. And her fellow officers could just go on home, afterwards. They could kiss their spouse, their children, and keep on living because it happened every day, and they were accustomed to it.

Nick was like that. Nick had lived a rough life, mistreated, abused, isolated. He could handle it all. He was able to stomach some horrible things, Judy thought. He could push through it, because he had experienced some of it himself. He was bothered by it, of course. He was not entirely callous. He would walk around with his ears laid back flat, the brightness of his eyes absent, that sense of brewing mischief that kept his limbs loose and tail swaying gone. But he could still sleep at night. He could rest well enough that it bothered him when Judy called him at three in the morning, needing to hear a voice and not be left alone with herself. He was her best friend, she felt for him like she felt for no other, but it frustrated her endlessly. He took it all in stride, calmly if not happily. He took notes when questioning, and his eyes did not ache, tears did not threaten to well up as whatever terrible event had occurred was explained. She had to bow her head, rest her forehead against the steering wheel after being called in to end a domestic dispute. Nick would restrain and reprimand the accused, throwing them in the backseat. All Judy could think of was the mark of a paw on skin. An innocent mammal being hit with enough force that the blooming bruise could be seen even through fur. Red tears leaking through a swollen shut eye. Nick just kept soldiering on, and she envied him somewhat. She hated it somewhat. She loved him, and tried not to despise him for being so desensitized to what went on around them.

His name was Bryan Starkey. He was a mole, an unassuming little guy. He had small squinting black eyes that strayed toward nearsightedness. His nose was squashed, strange shaped, and it quivered even more than Judy's. The smoothness of his brown fur, the immaculate quality of it, made it even more pronounced. He was fidgety, nervous, but Judy found this true of many burrowing animals: she could be twitchy sometimes as well. His voice was steady. His claws were neat, Judy had never seen him outside of a dress shirt, even when she at last caught him, even at his trial.

The Nighthowler conspiracy had been cracked, but Zootopia was not at peace. There was always something going on in the city, and her parents might have had good reason to be afraid for her. In the following year, over the course of about five months, the butchered bodies of three young mammals turned up in the Meadowlands. All female, all prey. That was the case with most homicides the ZPD investigated, so that in itself wasn't surprising. The victims were also all rodents. A squirrel, a chipmunk. A bunny. Each was killed by strangulation. Whoever murdered the victims dismembered their bodies after death, disemboweling them and leaving them in public places, locations that saw a lot of foot traffic. Two had been found in public parks, by children at play on Saturday mornings. For a first murder case, it was a doozie. Much as the Zootopia Police tried to keep the story under the wraps, it got out to the public. It caused a panic that neither Judy nor the department could quell. Other mammals blamed the victims, blamed the ZPD, blamed young rodents for somehow attracting the danger. Young mammals all around were put under curfews.

She was on the police force for a reason. She had some strong beliefs: eventually good would always triumph over evil. And that was how it looked like the case would turn out. She found the murderer, at least. Yet, catching the bad guy was not everything. Sensationalized in the media, name repeated on the radio, face on the television, Officer Hopps once again solved the case. A sly and smug fox was smirking over her shoulder on the front page of every paper in the area. She was interviewed on the evening news, called in for press conferences where journalists praised her endlessly and bombarded her with all kinds of questions. Of course, this was all a little preemptive. The mole was being tried, not necessarily convicted. Not yet.

Judy did not exactly live by the handbook, but she followed it to the best of her abilities. She was supposed to believe the accused were innocent until proven guilty. But she did believe the mole had committed those terrible crimes. She was convinced. She hated the mole with the entirety of herself. He was her first murder case, and those were always the hardest, especially for Judy. He had hurt the city, hurt mammals like her. Young females who were rodents, and she wanted justice. She craved it, needed it like water or air, and pursued the case relentlessly. Once he was caught, however, she did not gloat. She wanted out of the spotlight, now. She did not want the murders to touch her further than they already had. Judy was still made to do more interviews, more press conferences, despite her feelings on the matter.

Her family had grown to be so proud of her work: one of the front page articles was laminated, hung up over her parents' vegetable stand. It laid out the whole investigation beautifully, somewhat romanticizing Judy's powers of intuition. In truth, Judy had actually stumbled upon the perpetrator; Starkey owned a few laundromats throughout the Meadowlands, where young students in the area often went to do their wash, and to socialize. Judy had looked hard, and he was eventually the only link between all the girls that had not already been debunked. His information was run through various databases, and mole DNA was found on the clothes the victims had been wearing when they were killed. He had a pattern to who he killed, why he did it, but Judy did not care to learn what it was. There were certified officials who could do that, others who could do a better job at separating themselves from images of cut up mammals. She was unable to do that. She gave what statements she needed to give to the public, to those arguing over Starkey's fate in court, and that was it. She wanted no part of it.

Judy Hopps was very bad at compartmentalizing.

She saw these dead animals, and she saw herself. Her friends, her co-workers. Her sisters. Young rodent families. What else was she supposed to see? It was her first murder case, and as Chief Bogo told her, as everyone told her, those were always the hardest. But Judy had a feeling she took it much worse than her peers. Nick stomached it, asked whichever coroner was on hand about the disembowelment, about how long she had been dead once she had been found. Judy would stand apart from it all, fist over mouth as she looked upon a bunny whose life was snuffed out, a bunny who she could have grown up with, a bunny who could have lived down the street from her. She would meet with the victim's parents for questioning, leave their houses with a lump in her throat, a burning in her eyes. She empathized, and she felt the worse because of it. She was passionate, and sometimes it felt like it could ruin her career. She almost couldn't handle it all.

Bryan Starkey was acquitted.

All that work she had done, for nothing. All she had been through, for nothing. The murderer got off free. He was proven innocent in a court of law, but Judy could not see why. Once she cracked the case, it seemed obvious that it had been him the whole time. It could have been no one else. The jury felt otherwise, as reported in all the papers. Her parents delicately removed the article proclaiming their daughter's investigative prowess and bravery from their little wooden stand, off the fridge door. The evidence Judy, Nick, and the detectives of the ZPD produced was considered inconclusive by the jury. Judy felt like screaming, grabbing each juror and shaking them, repeating the letters "D", "N", and "A" until they realized the evidence against the mammal was damning. But the mole had hired a decent lawyer, and as Judy had learned since the Starkey case, the law did not always work towards making the world a better place. Not everyone believed in that goal as ardently as she did. It hardly mattered in the end that he had not been proven guilty, however. Regardless of the verdict, his reputation was destroyed. Starkey's life was essentially ruined by the accusation leveled on him.

His laundromats went out of business fairly quickly, and he disappeared out of the Meadowlands. The mole vanished in a way that Nick had once been well practiced in. The fox offered to look into his name, see where he went, for Judy's sake. But Judy was done with the case, done with how terrible it had made her feel. She had done her best work. She had powered through the investigation as she was expected to, only letting herself being seen compromised by Nick. She had gone through it all for nothing, believed with all her heart that Starkey was a monster who murdered these young animals, and been disappointed. Betrayed by the system she had believed in so utterly. The acquittal crushed her. She was done. Nick understood, and eventually let it alone. He stopped bringing up the weighty subject, instead reverting back to his regular jesting self. Judy liked life most like this. Maybe she wasn't ecstatically happy, but she was somewhat content, she had her partner by her side and the easy and non-emotionally compromising task of filling out paperwork, or watching out for speeders near busy intersections.

Nick was a good friend like that. He knew how Judy sometimes let her emotions get the best of her. He had experienced it firsthand, especially during the search for Emmett Otterton. He had seen her consumed with righteous anger, ruled over by frustration, overwhelmed with disappointment, and dominated by shame. He knew that it took things out of Judy, to feel the way she did sometimes. When she needed it, he kept things light and happy. He would drop his witty comments, waiting for her to smile before letting his lips curl up as well. He was good at impressions, and reserved his Chief Bogo for whenever Judy was feeling really down, grinning as the bunny's mood visibly lightened as she lifted her ears and smiled that wide smile she was somewhat embarrassed of, the one that showed all her teeth. He was always there for Judy, a smile always quick to show itself for her, a snide comment to make her snort and embarrass herself in the Bullpen in the mornings. It was that time after the Starkey murders (for they would be nothing else for Judy) that she was most grateful for Nick's friendship, the most grateful that he had conned her out of a popsicle.

Months passed, and life went on. It does that. Nothing very dramatic happened, and Judy was grateful for it. Things were essentially peaceful for Officers Hopps and Wilde. They went to their jobs every morning, sometimes offering to work evenings and night, if only to give Nick's nocturnal eyes a break, to give Judy an excuse to not call and check in with her parents that night. There was always a need for the police, always disturbances and occasions of violence, but nothing that equalled the scope of Bellwether's plot, or the deaths that Judy was convinced were the actions of Bryan Starkey. Judy could not tell herself that she was the same as she was before her first murder investigation, but she was almost back to normal. She spent her work hours with Nick, sometimes getting dinner with him, sending ugly selfies to her friends on the force and feeling an acute sense of betrayal when they screenshotted them. Lonely nights, empty bed. Same old, same old.

And then things changed, got more exciting. Or more worrying, depending on your viewpoint. An envelope turned up for Judy at the station. She had gotten a great deal of thank you letters and kindly worded notes after the had discovered the truth about Dawn Bellwether and revealed her to the public, but it had been a year and several months since the Nighthowlers had been a legitimate issue. Judy could see why no one really thought to question what was inside of the letters, even though it had been a long time since she had received anything. Several appeared over the course of a few weeks. They were addressed in her name in a neat hand, with no return address. They were thick and yellow, the kind that pinned close instead of with adhesive. She was slightly suspicious when she first saw it in her inbox at the office, and was more confused than horrified when she opened it up.

They were numbered on the back. Inside there were pictures of a young bunny. The photographs like any other, the type someone would get developed at a drugstore.

The bunny's fur was light brown, dusted darkly on the ends in patches. Almost golden. Judy would come to be very familiar with this young lady. Just as the sender of the pictures tracked her, Judy was able to follow her life as well. She was a college student, studying biochemistry. She knew this from the many photos of her with different textbooks tucked under her arm. She worked hard in the library most nights, judging by all the pictures she saw of her sitting in front of a screen full of words, sheets of paper with numbers, symbols, and abbreviations written all over them. There were a few pictures of her in some dive bar. The picture was blurry, taken from across the room through a cloud of smoke. All the pictures were like that, taken from a distance, hard to recognize the bunny depicted except for that distinctive golden-ish fur. It was a little sketchy, a little suspicious, but she had nothing much to say about them, other than that. Maybe this bunny followed her work, found her interesting. She had a girlfriend, a bunny much plumper than her, with lop ears that had gold studs around their tips. Judy thought of how uncomfortable that would be, metal always clicking somewhere within her hearing range. She flicked through the first set of photos idly, confused as to why someone would send her these pictures of a strange bunny. That is, until she got to the last photo in the stack.

It was a picture of her. Judy Hopps, ZPD uniform on her back, coming out of her apartment building at night, car keys held like claws between the pads of her paw. She always hated walking to her car when she and Nick had night shifts. Judy was well trained in close combat, taught only to bring down her opponent, not seriously injure them. But she was small and alone in the dark, and she liked the reassuring weight of the keys clutched in her paw, the coldness of the metal against white fur, her pink skin. She felt like there were eyes on her, sometimes. Walking out to the squad car parked on the street, only sometimes lit by streetlights, she would feel the skin on the back of her neck prickle, the fur stand somewhat on end. Not ready to flee, but anticipating some sort of danger. Nick said it was just a bunny thing, nervous and emotional. Turns out, she had a reason to be a little paranoid. Someone had been watching in the dark, at least once. Close enough to take a picture, far away enough so that her sharp hearing would not detect them.

She turned the photo over, where the rest of the pictures had been numbered. The one of her was numbered too, a "14" in black, encircled to keep it separate from the rest of the writing. Judy felt her breath hitch, her heart skip a beat as she saw what it said.

Sometimes, going over to Nick's apartment at night meant watching dramas. He watched to the news most of the time, ZNN, steering clear of sitcoms and occasionally tuning into one of those TV stations that just play music, shifting colorful background the only thing on the screen. If nothing else was on, reality TV could make an appearance. Judy saw more of Tygra Banks at Nick's apartment than she ever expected to. She got way more invested in Zootopia's Next Top Model than was normal. At any rate, sometimes TV at Nick's meant dramas. They would watch cop dramas, law dramas, popcorn bowl between them as they pointed out all the inaccuracies, finding a lot of humor in doing impersonations of the hardened officers that characterized the shows. The situations were so over the top, so dramatic, that sometimes she couldn't help laughing at them. Police work was walking the beat, sitting in a car for so long that your tail fell asleep and you walked funny for the rest of the day. It was walking in through the door of the station, coughing because everyone insisted on smoking outside the back entrance. Police work wasn't melodramatic reveals, criminals on the force, officers being harassed by past cases and quickly written-in ex-spouses. It could be dangerous sometimes, but it was nothing like the police life that was on the TV, the stuff her parents watched that made them so scared for her to become an officer.

Until now. On the back of the photo, written in a steady hand were the words: "I'm watching you". Nick heard Judy's breath hitch. He worked on the other side of her cubicle, and quickly rolled his chair over to wear she was sitting. He looked curiously at the photographs on Judy's desk, reaching forward to take a closer look. He flicked through them slowly, silent as Judy was when she looked through them.

"Cute bunny," he said, after he had gotten through them all. "A fan of the great Officer Judy Hopps?"

"No," Judy said absently, still looking at the photo in her paws. Nick peeked over her shoulder, and took in the words.

"That can't be good. Who is she? What is she?"

"A victim." She turned over the process, and though she knew no camera was on her now, she sort of felt like it. If it wasn't the watcher, then it could be a video camera, because she felt like she was in some campy crime scene investigation show, more than she felt like an actual cop. She knew there was danger, for herself and the bunny in the photos, but it almost didn't feel real in the clinical whiteness of the station. With Nick's weighty presence at her side. The fox's breath hitched like hers did when she first looked at the photo. Almost absentmindedly, he rested one of his paws on Judy's arm. A sign of support, maybe. Perhaps a preemptive protection from whatever and whoever had snapped the shot.

"We better tell Chief," he said.

They did, and the buffalo was much less affected than them. Hopps didn't like how he took it in stride, looking blandly upon the photos. He had gloved his hooves, not wanting to get more marks on the processed paper. Judy had no right to feel that way against his disinterested gaze, as she had been the same way when first looking at the set of pictures. But even as he reached the picture of Hopps herself, he did not have much of a reaction. He snorted softly, and Judy felt Nick tense up next to her. But the absence of physical emotion did not mean he was completely unfeeling. He had seen stuff like it before, with all his years on the force. He put the pictures back in the thick envelope they had come in, pulling off his plastic gloves. He balled them up and placed them beside the picture, likely expecting either Wilde or Hopps to throw them away on their way out of his office. He sighed, not much emotion in the gesture, and finally spoke.

"The most we can do right now is send these into the lab, see if there are any prints, any trace amounts of DNA. But even then, that will only be relevant when whatever material we find matches another criminal in the database." Here, he gave Nick a scathing look. The fox looked blandly ahead. "And we will have one of these pictures up in the station, just to see if anyone knows this bunny."

"Why do you think we are being watched, sir?"

"I don't have a clue, Officer Hopps. It might be a stalker, it might be someone much more dangerous. This might just be a one time occurrence. But we will ask around about this brownish one here, just to keep close watch on her. We wouldn't want anyone getting hurt."

"Is that all we can do?" Nick asked. He seemed genuinely agitated. Suffering another glare from Bogo, he added on a reluctant "sir".

"That is all you can do, Wilde. We'll keep our eye on what Hopps receives in her mailbox, maybe intercept whoever put this there. We might find out more once the results get back. In the meantime, you two will do your regular jobs, and you will not go off and do your own private investigations. I won't hear of it. Do you understand me?"

They both nodded, and Judy did not appreciate that Bogo only looked at her as he finished up his little speech. Go rogue one time, and you get an eternal stink eye. She could understand it, but she didn't like it. As they both stood up to go, Bogo grunted and gestured towards the envelope and the gloves. Judy tucked the envelope under her arm, and Nick grabbed the gloves. He threw them in the trash can by the door like he was free throwing a basketball, barely making it into the actual receptacle.

"You alright?" Asked the fox as they descended back to the first floor of the building, to where their shared cubicle was. He moved his paw almost like he was going to put it around Judy's shoulder, but aborted the action, his arm hovering in the air for a moment before he brought it down again. He clicked his claws together. "It's scary stuff."

"I've been better," Judy told him, "but I can handle it, you know? And it's not like I can do anything for the time being. I'll just sit it out, see what happens." She knew her ears were droopy, her voice tired, but Nick didn't bring it up. He was always good like that. He tapped his claws against his pant leg as they walked, a nervous gesture while he talked to Judy about some funny video Clawhauser had sent him the night before. When they got back to their desks, he stretched his back, yawning hugely. He flicked his tail against Judy's leg, and asked what she wanted to get for dinner.

"It's not even twelve o'clock, and I can't even think of food right now, Nick. Do a better job at distracting me, please."

"Gladly," he said.

More envelopes appeared in her inbox, more pictures. The same dark, gold-furred bunny, living her life, not knowing she was being watched. She looked happy, even with tired eyes, her nose dry above her smiling mouth. The second group of pictures was almost all photographs of her and her girlfriend, sitting close together on the same side of a booth in some poorly lit restaurant, talking and looking at each other, a vegetable platter untouched in front of them. These pictures were of a worse quality than the first group, taken with a phone camera, most likely. There were no pictures of Judy this time, just the back of the victim's head. She was sitting on a park bench, part of her looking translucent with the sun shining through the thin skin of her ears.

Nothing was found from the pictures being sent to the lab. No DNA, no trace amounts of any sort of skin, hair, body fluid. No prints, claw or hoof marks. No spit on the envelopes, since they were the kind that you pinned close with a little brass brad. Whoever was doing it was being very careful. Looking through the station's cameras, there was nothing suspicious that Judy saw. The envelopes just ended up in her mail, and she knew the little capybara intern that usually handed out what mail the officers got had no part of it. There were no leads, just pictures and a feeling of discontent in her chest. Judy grew frustrated with the elusiveness of whoever was doing this, and their persistence.

There were more pictures, not every morning, not even every week. But they came often enough that they were always on her mind, always bothering her in a way that not even Nick could distract her from. Sometimes there were pictures of her, sometimes not. In her old, worn pajamas, carrying down her garbage on Saturday mornings where she didn't have to go into work until noon. Sitting by a window at her and Nick's favorite sandwich shop, laughing at something the fox had just said, rain outside and the flash of the camera ruining any chance she could have had at noting anything about the animal taking the picture through their reflection in the glass. She wondered how she had never noticed the flash when this picture had been taken, maybe two weeks before she received it in her inbox. Walking out of the library with her face down, looking at something on her phone, smiling slightly. Someone was watching, and they were watching often enough. She wondered what they wanted, why they liked making her so uncomfortable and paranoid.

Judy Hopps was very bad at compartmentalizing. She could not help but think about this other bunny, think of her life and how she lived it. She could not help but let it dominate most of her thoughts, even while doing other work, even when she was with Nick. She thought about the other bunny, how she likely didn't even realize she was being watched. She wondered why they were being targeted, why she was the one receiving the photos. But then again, the golden bunny could have been thinking the same thing. Wondering if this little rabbit police officer knew she was being tracked.

It was bothersome, and it made her curious, but it seemed like ultimately, nothing would come from the pictures. It had been eight months since she had first gotten photographs, about six weeks since the last group of them. It was the longest time that had passed between getting the thick envelopes, and she had lately been hoping that she had seen the last of them, several shots of the mysterious bunny studying in a coffeeshop. Judy had wondered how the photographer could get so many pictures in two totally different places together so quickly, wondered if they had an accomplice. But some time had passed, and then she hardly wondered at all. Her and Nick had celebrated with a drink after the first month without receiving a single snapshot, and she had been considering making it a tradition to get a drink like that every month, if only to spend more time with the fox. They walked into the station one morning, however, and Judy was greatly disappointed to see a thick, yellow envelope sitting in her tray. She groaned loudly, ears flattening against her head as Nick patted her back, saying "there, there, Carrots".

"I thought we were done with these," she complained, sitting down and grabbing the envelope, more out of duty than of actual interest. She contemplated why she had not handed them straight off to Chief Bogo every time she received one, why she kept insisting on seeing them for herself if they just frustrated her. She pulled them out, turned around to look at Nick to say something, and then stopped as Nick said quietly, stunned,

"Oh, my god."

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A/N: Sorry about the cliffhanger, y'all. I should have chapter two up by tomorrow, stay posted!


	2. Chapter 2

_**A/N:** A bit of forewarning: there's some mild descriptions of gore in this chapter. _ Very _mild, but watch out if that sort of thing really bothers you._

* * *

Body parts.

Pictures of them, anyway.

The first envelope Judy received contained only pictures of an ear, light brown and dusted darkly on the ends, pinned to a wall and shot from several angles. An ear she had once seen on a pretty young head, lit by sunlight, surrounded by leaves. Straight back against the head in a gesture of pleasure, a girlfriend's arm hooked around her shoulder. A bunny's ear. The pictures were numbered so that when someone went through them in order, it took them from the left of the ear to it's right. A panorama. Judy's throat ached, and she felt a little like vomiting. She felt Nick's paw on her shoulder, his jaw against her head as he looked at the pictures too. Bogo was much more interested in these photos than the dozens that had come earlier in the year, studying each one closely and for several moments, not acknowledging the fox and rabbit seated across from him, ramrod straight and tense. The last picture of the set had a note on the back, written neatly in black and in a steady hand, like from the first set. "This is your fault," it said. Judy bowed her head.

"Can you think of why someone would say something like this?" Bogo asked her.

"There is no reason why anyone could say something like that," Nick told the buffalo. He had not been invited in, but he was sitting next to Judy all the same. She had not asked for it, but she appreciated the support. She knew it was impossible that she had actually caused the maiming of her strange bunny, the torture and possible murder of the animal, but she was still torn up about it. For who could the ear belong to, if it wasn't the bunny she had been seeing pictures of for over half a year? She regretted not investigating earlier, even though she had been expressly forbidden to do so.

"I was asking Officer Hopps," said the buffalo in reply. He did not scold Nick for his insubordination, as he normally would. He just looked at Judy with a soft look in his eyes, something she had not seen more than once. He spoke softly, too. She would have been offended at his gentle treatment, his assuming that she could not handle blunt questioning. But she felt raw, like her chest was being clawed at, and she felt delicate. It was not a common feeling, but she wanted to be cared for. She wanted someone to hug her tightly and tell her that everything was going to be okay. _Was_ it her fault? "Judy, I understand that you're upset right now, but I want you to think hard on it. Could anyone have a grudge against you? A reason to hurt you, to want to manipulate you?"

Judy shook her head, afraid of the waver in her voice that would surely appear if she said anything. She sat in silence for a while, dealing with Bogo's blunt gaze and an extremely high awareness of the pity Nick was practically pouring onto her. Eventually she said, "I'll think about it. May I leave, sir?"

"Leave?" Whispered Nick, harshly. Judy wondered why he was being so forceful, until she remembered one of the other times she had gotten too torn up about a case. She had handed in her badge, run back home with her cute, fuzzy wuzzy little tail tucked between her legs, just like Nick had once predicted. She wondered if he had felt pleased about his correct fortune for her, once. A lonely night in her childhood bed, surrounded by the breathing and snores of her siblings. She thought about Nick often that month she had spent back on the farm, after she had fled from her position. She had betrayed her values, betrayed her friend, and she could never stop thinking about the fox. Then and now.

"Leave?" Bogo questioned. He shook his head. "Judy, you are valued member of this force, will you really do this aga—"

"I'm not resigning," Judy said, surprised. She looked up, her eyes having before being firmly fixed to the ground. "I'm just a little overwhelmed, sir."

"How about the rest of the day off, sir?" Suggested Nick, looking at Judy for verification, for some sign that she was still with him.

"Don't think you're taking advantage of this situation, Wilde," said Bogo, a sudden note of distaste working its way into his voice. They had all had a long day, Judy knew this. But she did not appreciate the Chief taking it out on her friend. She did not appreciate the prejudice that still remained within the ZPD. They had made some steps, but bigotry did not vanish overnight. She fought the urge to reach out and grab Nick's paw in comfort. She was good at suppressing feelings like that. Nick recoiled slightly at the sound of Bogo's voice. "Trying to skip out of your day's work at Hopps' expense? You go back to the office. Hopps, get some rest and try prepare yourself for some questioning tomorrow. Think hard on my question, someone will be asking again tomorrow morning. Do you need an escort home?"

"I'll be fine without one."

"Very well. Dismissed."

Judy and Nick filed out of the office together, an action that was becoming too familiar for the bunny's tastes recently. She was ready for this to be over, though she knew it would surely last a while longer, judging by how long the whole ordeal had dragged on already. Both her and Nick were quiet on their walk downstairs, until she stretched her arm out, resting a paw on Nick's shoulder. She would have pulled him in for a hug, but he tensed up as soon as she touched him, and she didn't want to make him uncomfortable. She wanted him to feel safe, even when she didn't feel safe herself.

"You know I don't think that of you, right?" She asked.

Nick straightened up, pulling himself out of whatever train of thought he had been pursuing. He was frowning, and was very obviously keeping his ears up and perky consciously, not wanting to betray what he was thinking. Conceal, don't feel, that was the Nick Wilde way. He always walked like he had a secret. "Hm?"

"I know you care about my wellbeing, more than you care about getting a day off of work. I know you care about me. I know you wouldn't take advantage of me like that."

"Do you?" Nick shook his shoulder, knocking Judy's paw off of it. He crossed his arms, claws tapping against the blue fabric of his uniform sleeve.

"Oh, come on, don't be mad at me. And you know that Bogo didn't really mean the things he said. Nick, we've all had a long day, we've seen some bad things—"

"You're excusing what he just said?"

"No! I'm just saying that I don't want you to lump me in with what he just said, the comment he wouldn't have said if he wasn't as tired and frustrated as I am right now. I understand that we're all feeling bad, and overwhelmed, not just me. Don't take it out on me, Nick."

They had gotten to the ground floor, at that point. Judy was frustrated, gloomy, and nervous all at the same time. She did not want to go home alone, but she did not want to be with Nick at the moment. She didn't want him to get in trouble for going home, direct insubordination. He wasn't happy with her, but she knew he would go with her if she asked.

She and Nick were not a pair for awkward silences. Even when they had no respect for each other, a great dislike between them, they still talked. They still teased, though it had become more goodnatured than it was when they first met. Judy did not like the silence. The last time she had stood with Nick in silence, she thought she had broken the world, broken her only real and true friendship at the time. She thought Nick was stringing her along, deliberately making her feel bad as he had when she figured out his con so many long months ago. She hated that they were back at square one, suddenly.

She did not like what the stalker, the photographer, had managed to do within the span of an hour. She wondered if that was the goal of the pictures, if that was why the suspect had deliberately blamed her in their cryptic note. She felt terrible, and she wanted to go home. She felt terrible, and she wanted Nick at her side. They stood to the side of the glass doors that functioned as the entrance to the ZPD, Nick looking over his shoulder at nothing in particular, Judy looking down at her feet. Both wanted something to be said, but both were unwilling to be the first one to break the silence. Judy had done nothing wrong, had only tried to assure Nick that she trusted and understood him. And she knew that Nick thought she was siding with Bogo instead of him, he thought that she was too weak minded to do much else. She did not blame him for it, though she knew it would make her angry when she thought about it later.

"I'll see you tomorrow," she finally said. She handed him the keys to their car, not looking him in the eye as she did so. "I'm riding the bus back to my room. You'll need to pick me up."

"Yeah," replied Nick. He jiggled the keys in his paw, and shifted his feet, making it seem like he was going to say something else. But nothing was spoken. He shuffled off quickly, apparently glad to get away from Judy's side. She was bone achingly tired, though it was not even noon.

She had felt too much for the day, she decided. She was going to go home, and take a long hot shower while there was no one there to complain about her hogging all the water. She would sit around with no pants on, play games on her phone, and not think. She would not answer any calls, any texts; she would close the blinds over her window. She was going to put on the old sweatshirt Nick had once left on her floor, a black Depelk Mode hoodie he had probably owned for more than a decade. She had theories as to how he got it. She thought he would have lifted it from the merchandise table, eyes bloodshot and smelling of smoke, in some act of teenage heroism. It made her smile, to think like that, even if he had obtained it lawfully. He and Judy had been sitting on her bed, listening to the radio and playing cards. He always expected that Judy would lose, since he always cheated spectacularly. But Judy had learned all those tricks from growing up with her many siblings, from quiet games played in the bunkroom at the Academy. They evenly matched each other. Nick took off his sweatshirt sometime between games, and forgot to put it on again. It was rough on the inside, the sweatshirt, and didn't do much to keep an animal warm. But it smelled like him, and she was lonely.

She was awake that night much more than she was asleep, but she still managed to look presentable by the time Nick had sent her a text to say that he was outside her door. She did not bother with her full uniform. Usually, she was meticulous about it, but she knew she would not be going out of the field at all that day, and probably wouldn't be leaving the questioning room or her cubicle. She held her badge in her paw; she would ask Nick to put it in his pocket so she wouldn't have to deal with it dragging her collar down. She wore a ZPD tee shirt over leggings, and if Nick was surprised to see her out of uniform, he didn't say anything about it. He wore his sunglasses, so Judy could not see how his eyes looked, if he was apologetic or still hateful. He just held out a paper cup of coffee to her as she climbed into the car. He still wouldn't say anything. His oldies music played softly over the speakers, drum machine the only thing breaking the silence. They always listened to Judy's music when she was driving, and she knew he sometimes got tired of Gazelle. She let her ears droop, and listened to the synthesizer that characterized the music Nick enjoyed. A lump was in her throat, a stinging in her eyes, and she was not exactly sure why. Nothing in particular was making her feel sad, so she just assumed all the events of the past twenty-four hours were simply catching up to her body.

By the time they had the car in the parking deck down the road from the station, tears had not been rolling into Judy's fur for that long, but it already felt like a great deal had come down. Nick took off his glasses, not looking at Judy, the sharp click of the plastic arms being folded against each other the only large sound. Bunnies were good at being silent, and Judy kept her cries in until Nick spoke. He kept his eyes away from her, out his window.

"Sorry," he mumbled. He spoke louder, he wanted to make sure Judy understood him. "I let him get to me, and I took it out on you. I'm sorry."Judy's breath hitched loudly, and once Nick had his eyes on her, she couldn't keep it withheld anymore. She couldn't keep it bottled up. She didn't like Nick's pity, but she found it impossible to keep her loud crying quiet anymore. She shook with her sobbing, chest heaving, head buried in her paws. She remotely heard her name, felt paws on her back, around her middle. She was scooped up like a child, and Nick held her and waited for her to calm down. Such treatment would have had her full of rage any other time. Manhandled, treated like something small and fragile. She wanted to be taken seriously. But she felt delicate, wounded, and it felt good to be held. It was nice to be held by Nick, though she would never say it out loud. It was nice to have him so close. They were always close, of course, but he had never held her like this. He had never comforted her like this. She buried her face in his neck.

"It's a lot," she said. "It's a lot."

Pictures kept coming, a set dedicated to another part of the gold bunny. Never two at once, and always a picture or several of Judy thrown in. There weren't pictures of her smiling anymore. Pensive, looking out the second story window of one of the station's nicer, more friendly questioning rooms. Head down, hood over her ears, walking down the street. It could have been any bunny, but Judy knew she was the only bunny the photographer, the torturer would have sent. She did not want to look at the pictures in the envelope, but she felt obligated to after one picture of her was found by the detective going through one of the sets sent to Judy's desk.

Her and a fox in a ZPD uniform, curled up tightly in the front seat of a squad car. It was unclear where the bunny ended and the fox began. The angle it was taken, you could not tell she was crying, that Nick was comforting her. She was clinging to him, it looked like she had her mouth against his neck in a fashion that was not entirely platonic. It was not strictly legal to keep evidence like she was. But an old meerkat detective had handed it to her, face down, not meeting her eyes, his whiskers trembling. Interspecies relationships: legal in theory, but not moral in the eyes of most mammals. But she had done a lot for the force, and the up-in-years meerkat had not said a word, just handing her the picture and walking away. That's why she had to go through the pictures before anyone else, to prevent another picture like that one from being discovered. Not all officers were so kind, so willing to look over prejudice.

She kept it in her underwear drawer, pulled it out when she was feeling lonely. It felt invasive that the photographer had caught her in such a vulnerable position, in such a compromising position. But she still liked to look at it.

That was the only good thing to come out of the photos. Judy was sick of the gore, the violence, knowing that the bunny was likely not alive. Very likely, the photographer had dismembered her all at once, took pictures of it all, and staggered their delivery. Judy felt terrible. There was a set of pictures dedicated to paw that had been severed from its arm, a pretty and bloodied gold chain around the wrist. She wondered if the bunny's girlfriend had given it to her, or if it was a parent, another relative. Bunnies always had a lot of those, after all. An envelope full of rabbit's feet. Or rather, just one, hanging from the leg by the smallest amount of tendon. Past the point of hurting whoever it was, but horrifying to look at.

Nick didn't even try to distract her anymore, to try to make her feel better. He was just as torn up as Judy, just as closed off and empty-feeling. Bogo kept them confined to their desks, and they hardly ever turned to talk to each other. Silent car rides on the way to work, work days spent busily on their desk work, silent car rides on the way back home. They spent no time with each other outside of the station, no meals, no nights spent sitting next to each other on Nick's old couch, chest aching with the need to reach out, to do something about how she felt. Judy felt with everything she had, after all. The photographs took that away. She understood that this was exactly what they wanted. They wanted to tear Judy apart, make her lose her drive, her relationships. Make her give up.

She did, in the end. But she figured it all out before she did. He got too close to her, and that was his downfall. Judy was awoken one night by footsteps, not an uncommon occurrence in the Grand Pangolin Arms, where the floors were creaky and old, the walls thin. The hall outside her door was full of light, and the shuffling feet stopped right outside her door. She sat up groggily, saw something being pushed underneath her door, and then was suddenly very awake. Whoever it was that delivered it had left very quickly, and was gone by the time Judy had bounded to the door and torn it open. She turned on her light, and looked down at her feet to see what had been left.

It was a thick, yellow envelope. Held close by a brass pin, and delivered directly to her doorstep. She was scared for a moment, ready to run, a very rabbit-like urge, but she soon composed herself. It was hard enough for her to leave her work at the station, and here she was, going over gorey pictures of dead bunnies while curled up in her duvet. For the bunny was definitely dead, if Judy hadn't thought so earlier. Disemboweled. There were several photos of the gutted rabbit's abdomen, very high quality, and Judy had to look away several times, gagging at the sight of it. She looked closely, looked on the backs of the photos for any notes. There weren't any, but as she sat and thought about the pictures, it all finally clicked.

A dead bunny. A grudge against Judy Hopps. Dismemberment and disembowelment after a long period of watching and studying routines of the victim before finally committing the act.

Bryan Starkey.

She got dressed quickly, pulling on a dirty pair of jeans and Nick's sweatshirt. It was an ungodly hour of the morning, but she still sent the fox a text, letting him know that he would need to take public transportation to work in a few hours, or get a ride from another officer. She had made a breakthrough in the case, she told him. She tried to feel excited about it, but the emotion never really came. It was the twinge of vicious satisfaction that she had always been in the right, that justice would be served. But she didn't feel pleased, didn't feel happy that perhaps the horror would end for her. More than anything, there was just a grim conclusion that she could not ever go back to the life she had lived before the pictures. They had changed her, changed her relationships, changed the way she thought. She would wonder about that later, however, how she would go on after Starkey was found, what she would do after he was surely to be sentenced for this murder.

It was a busy morning. Bogo was not at all pleased to come into the station so early, but he was pleased to hear that Judy had finally come up with an answer to the question he had posed her so many weeks ago. She laid out the pictures on his desk, and explained her theory. He nodded throughout it, sometimes asking her to stop and explain a logical leap he did not quite follow, but otherwise staying quiet. Once Judy was done, he nodded once again, this time with finality. They would put out a warrant for his arrest. There would be an animal hunt, but he would be found, eventually. Zootopia's police were well trained, dedicated to keeping other mammals safe. They would find Starkey, and Judy firmly believed that he would finally be put behind bars.

Nick came in a little later than usual, but Judy did not begrudge him for it. The day was in full swing by then, and she was in the lobby. Not necessarily because she wanted to talk to whoever was passing by, but because Clawhauser was always the first to figure out most things that were going on at the station. And he was in such a good mood most of the time, that it made Judy happy when she was around him, at least a little bit. Though Judy did not much feel like conversation, they still talked idly about whatever came to mind. Gazelle's newest single, the tear in Chief's shirt. They were taking bets on how long it would take him to notice it, and taking additional bets on how angry he would be when it was found. Clawhauser thought he would just snort and change out the shirt. Judy thought that he was so strung out after Starkey's photographs that he would completely snap. They would have to wait and see, Judy guessed.

Nick was well put together when he came in, in comparison to Judy's slovenly appearance, a direct contrast to what usually was the case. He looked happy for the first time Judy had seen him in months. Judy had been sitting on Clawhauser's desk, next to the phone so she could hear everything, but as soon as she saw red fur out of the corner of her eye, she jumped down to the floor and walked quickly over to him. Clawhauser's company had made her feel a bit better about everything, and Nick boosted that mood even further. There was a touch more than just vicious satisfaction in her heart. There was a smattering of joy. She was not fully happy, but she wasn't as empty as she had felt that morning when she had first woken up to the sound of footsteps. The fox smiled, tipping his head to the side and holding his arms open. Judy let herself be held, and for once, did not care what mammals would say at the sight of her and Nick together. She rubbed her nose against his chest, not letting go even when he began walking forward, toward Clawhauser. She just stood on his feet, feeling a bit like a child, and allowed herself to simply be moved around. Nick kept an arm around her so she would not fall backwards or lose her balance.

Bogo should have snapped at them for goofing around like that, for making the ZPD seem like a playground. But he was in his office, busy making important phone calls and being the boss. And though they were just in the preliminary stages of organizing an animal hunt, the buffalo seemed confident in Judy's theory. Her theories usually proved right, it was being realized. He had thought she was wrong about Starkey during the first trial, but now he was appreciating the thought behind Judy's accusation, the logic she applied to her investigation.

As the day went along, eventually Nick and Judy relocated to their cubicle, as Clawhauser had to do actual work. Judy had done her work for the day, and Nick, being on the same case, did not have much to do either. They sat in their office chairs, not necessarily talking, but it wasn't quite as uncomfortable anymore, the silence. She had been right, as she had gotten dressed that morning. Things were going to be different from now on. It was up to her to see how things would go, but she knew one thing would not change. She would try and stay close with Nick, no matter how they changed, no matter how the dynamic flipped or flopped. In the cubicle, there was none of their banter which had been normal for so long. It had characterized their friendship, and maybe it would come back eventually, but Judy could not bring herself to start it at that moment. She just raised and lowered her office chair, and watched Nick.

He had come a long way from the con mammal she had met in Jumbeaux's Ice Cream Parlor almost three years ago. He was a relatively moral fellow now, set on his goals, determined to be the good fox he was, determined to upset stereotypes. He wore his uniform with pride, his badge was a symbol of honor, much more than the little paper one he had worn when they first worked together. He was content, that Judy could tell. She had encouraged him, and he was now living a life he had dreamed of as a child.

He looked good in blue.

She sometimes wondered if they would have gotten along as children, if they would have been friends. She eventually decided they wouldn't have. By the time she would have been old enough to interact with him without being considered a baby, he would have already decided to harden himself to the world. To not let them see that they got to him. He would purposefully inhabit every stereotype mammals thought of him. Judy would have been scared, prejudiced. She would just be a bunny bumpkin, obsessed with justice and peace, a big bigotry towards foxes tucked under her belt, given to her by her parents. They would not have gotten along well at all. They had met at just the right moments in their lives, it seemed. It wasn't fate, probably wasn't meant to be. But it felt right.

"Nice sweatshirt," he eventually said.

"Do you like it?" Judy asked, looking down at it, the silhouettes of the animals marked out above the name of the band. "You know, I figured you would."

"I've been looking for that one, actually."

"It's mine now," Judy told him. "No takebacks."

"Wasn't going to ask for it back, I had just wondered where it was.."

"I'll get you a Gazelle sweatshirt, then we'll make a real pair."

"How dare you?" Nick brought a paw to his chest, faking disgust, or something like it.

They found Starkey holed up in the back room of a spare parts shop in Tundratown. It would have been more difficult to find him, had Judy not called in a favor with Mr. Big. Being the godmother to a crime boss' granddaughter had its perks, certainly. She was pleased to see the mole dragged into the station, Francine pushing him along, two thuggish polar bears trailing behind, just to see that the job was done correctly. The mole was twitchy, and Judy figured Mr. Big had threatened to ice him before handing him over to the police. She had asked him to, after all. It was good to see justice served, but Judy did not feel nearly as happy as she should have been about Starkey being apprehended. She wondered if she would feel better about it, after some time passed. She would just have to wait and see.

There was no trial, as Starkey eventually confessed under questioning. Judy was glad there was no big, public trial this time. She could not handle the publicity, the press statements and her picture on the front page. She still had to speak at a press conference soon after Starkey's confession, but that was it. One necessary statement, and then she was done. She was sure her parents were not happy about it, since they liked seeing their family name in the papers, over the radio. Judy was unwilling, however. She did not want to face the mole in court, did not want him to see that he had gotten to her as he had wished for. She was a face on the edge of his scenery, she never approached him, and he never asked after her, as far as she knew. It was a plea bargain, and the mole got a limited sentence. Thirty years as opposed to life. Nick got heated about the court's decision, made a big fuss about it, but nothing was changed. Judy did not feel too angry or too happy about it. Three decades behind bars was better than no time at all, better than him getting away with murder again.

The bunny's name, as it turned out, was Poppy Glenn. Starkey, as said in his confession, had killed her long before he had began harassing Judy with her pictures. She was long dead before she came into Judy's life at all. This wasn't a comfort, no matter how many mammals tried to assure her of that. She did not actually cause the bunny's death, they said. But she had. She had not sufficiently built up a case against Starkey. If he had been convicted, his civilian life would have had no relevancy to him. But because it did, because his standing had been ruined, a girl who had never even heard of Judy Hopps was punished for it, a sort of substitute for Judy herself. She felt terrible, all the time. Even when she wasn't dwelling on it, it was like a hole in her chest, something she was always aware of.

It took away the joy in her work, the joy in living. She had been following her dearest dreams, but now it felt more like a duty than a passion. She went through the motions, and smiled for Nick's sake, not because she actually felt like it. Judy did want to remain close with Nick, but it became harder and harder every day. She longed for something to revive her love for work, but it never came. Eventually, she began to long for an opportunity to take her away from the monotony and listlessness, away from Nick's pitying looks and self-destructive thoughts.

A few months later, it must have been a very slow time for the press. This was unlucky for Judy, as well as the media. No major crimes, no significant political corruption to unveil. It was winter, not much was happening, and mammals were bored. Sensationalism was what kept a lot of reporters afloat, and they must have been scrambling. A little aardvark with extraordinarily curled eyelashes approached her one day as she was coming out of her customary cafe, holding two cups of coffee in her paws. She was thankful for the warmth of the drink, and was trying to get back to their squad car, back to Nick.

The aardvark's name was Josie Clemens, and didn't you know, all of Zootopia wanted to know what Judy Hopps was planning on doing now? After another extremely public case, after the bunny's theories had once again been proven correct. Where could she go from there? Judy wasn't necessarily a celebrity, but she was a common face around Zootopia, even if she never became the ZPD's public representation. She supposed it made sense that the aardvark had approached her, but she didn't pretend to like being interviewed.

"What comes next?" Asked Josie, batting her long eyelashes, holding her phone in front of her, looking to record every stuttered reply that came from Judy.

The rabbit considered everything that had happened to her for the past few months. Nothing but a series of photographs and a grudge had completely and totally wrecked her, maybe ruined her for police work forever. At any rate, there was no going back to the rabbit she had once been. No going back to the past. Looking towards the future, she didn't see anything clearly.

She could keep going on with her current life, lonely and listless, even with her best friend at her side. Faking courage in dangerous and frightening situations, pretending nothing got to her like the rest of the force. Lonely nights in her apartment, lonely nights in Nick's, too much of a coward to reach out her paw and act on her strongest feelings. Feeling even worse because of it. It would be a life, but it would be a bleak one, and not the happiest. She would have to take a different path, if she wanted any sort of return to normalcy. Any chance to feel safe and healthy again.

This isn't what she told Josie Clemens, whose little arm was shaking from holding up her phone for so long. Judy might have offered to take it, if she didn't have two rapidly cooling coffees clutched in both paws. Judy told Josie that she would be doing what she always did. Keeping the city safe, making the world a better place. Working and living in the greatest city in the world, meeting new mammals and spending time with old friends. Josie nodded eagerly at Judy's response, and then started a new bout of questions. Any information on the Starkey case that had not been released to the press in the past few months? What were the feelings on the mole, her feelings on the photographical evidence, her feelings on the ZPD's actions during the long, drawn out reveal? Judy would not answer these, and she knew the reporter was disappointed to see Judy's tail turn the corner, wanting much more than the bunny had given her.

Judy read the article when Clawhauser sent her the link to it a few days later. It was a fluff piece, just restating Judy's past accomplishments, her extremely vague plans for the future. It did go into strange detail, however, about her activities. Josie was probably unable to reach her goal length for the article, and decided to talk about what Zootopia's favorite police officer liked to do in her leisure time. It was not overly invasive, but Judy still wondered why anyone would be that interested. The article was meant to occupy an empty space on a weekday spread, it was nothing important or special. For anyone who wasn't her, it might have been a nice read, however, and she was sure her parents had it framed somewhere, or maybe it was pasted into one of their many scrapbooks. She almost smiled when Nick read it to her one night over the phone, poking fun at Judy as he pretended to gush over her. She just couldn't get to lips to curl up. She frowned as Nick went over the many things Judy Hopps liked to do throughout Zootopia, making himself sound excited over Judy's occasional appearances in the Downtown branch of the public library, or her favorite place to get carrot cake. He went through the article, completely unaware of the thoughts running through the bunny's head, unaware of the decision she had made as she listened absently to his familiar voice.

She was not happy with this life. She was not emotionally equipped to deal with what her decisions had caused, and she needed a way out. Judy believed it was time for a change.


	3. Chapter 3

Chief Bogo was the only one she would tell. No one else needed to know. She would notify him, and then she would vanish like smoke on the wind. Yes, no one else needed to know. No one really wanted to know, either. She was a shadow of what she had once been, and the less-close friends she had had on the force, the ones that weren't Nick, had steadily dropped out of her life, though she still saw them at work. It was not likely to happen in any capacity, that someone would be very upset about her leaving. But she did not want to cause an uproar, an upset, or any hurt feelings. She wanted to leave quietly, without a sound. She wanted her departure to be like pulling out a tooth. It would leave an ache, for sure. It would cause pain for a while, and there would always be an empty hole where she used to be. But it would happen quickly, and they would not be aware of the pain, at least for a little while.

But she still had to tell Bogo. She could have just disappeared altogether, and left the buffalo scrambling, wondering where she went, and why she had left such a promising position on the force, the possibility of promotion becoming more and more tangible. But that was cruel. Judy was wrecked, damaged, but she was not unfeeling. She still was able to empathize with nearly everything and everyone she encountered. She would let Bogo know. No matter how harsh the Chief could be, he did not deserve to be left out of her decision.

She knew that he valued her work, valued the deductions she was able to make while on the job, and she knew he would take the news hard. He had taken it hard the first time, back when Nighthowlers were still the most pressing issue on their minds. After more time spent with her, she wondered vaguely if the buffalo would be more torn up about it this time. She doubted it. She sat across from him in his well-lit office. He just looked at her, waiting for her to begin. Uncomfortable in a stiff-backed chair, and she wondered if it was to be her last time ever in his office, fixed with his powerful gaze. The idea of not coming back was disconcerting, but Judy knew it was for the best. For her emotional health, if not for the force.

Judy began speaking, and did not start out with her decision. Instead she spoke about her emotions. Her feelings of listlessness and lack of satisfaction with her work. She did not mean to go into much detail, but unwittingly, she described her sadness and her grief. She told the buffalo about her loneliness, her thoughts which had been increasingly taking a dark and self-destructive turn. She was making herself seem weak and delicate, everything that was expected of a bunny like her, but she did not care. The words just came out, and the buffalo just continued to listen. He did not interrupt her. He allowed her to explain why she no longer felt like a viable part of the force. She felt like baggage being lugged along by those more capable of handling the emotional toll police work took. She felt useless, becoming a desk jockey because she was becoming unfit for field work. Dragging her partner down with her. She did not want to confirm animals' assumptions about her from the start, that she was weak and not able to deal with dangers of policing. But she was changed. She could not fake confidence and bravery forever. Eventually she would break, and she wanted to get out before that happened. She wanted to leave by her own terms, and so, she would hand in her resignation.

She expected the cape buffalo to put up a fight about it. She expected him to offer her paths to cope with what had happened to her. An extended vacation, maybe, or free counseling with the folks trained for that they had in the station. They were usually used for grieving family members, after a conviction or a significant loss, but officers sometimes required them too. Judy had even prepared a response to these arguments, she had run over it in her head on the drive over to the station, memorizing the words so she would be able to deliver them flatly and without getting emotional about it. Nick did not remark upon her silence in the car. He was used to her being quiet, now. He would have been more surprised to hear her say more than a dozen words the whole fifteen minutes it took to get to work. Anyway, Judy did not have to use any of her responses to arguments advocating her stay on the force. Bogo just nodded calmly, and asked her when she was going to be handing in her badge.

Looking back on that meeting in the Chief's office, Judy liked to believe that the buffalo understood her. He knew that she had not given up out of personal weakness. Anyone would have felt the way she did, being targeted for so long in such a horrible way. But then, he could have just been satisfied to know that he had been right, that a bunny would not last in the Zootopia Police Department. Judy preferred the former interpretation. She told him that she would be handing in her badge and her gun by the end of the week.

She told him that she did not want a farewell party. She did not want a big fuss to be made about her. She wanted to vanish. Judy had opened the door to other mammals, but she was done with the force now. She had cracked open enough opportunity to allow other little guys in, but she did not need to be involved. She did not want to be involved. She wanted out, and she wanted something much more familiar. A life where putting on a uniform didn't make her feel sick to her stomach. A life where her fondest dream eventually made her so miserable that she wanted to just lay in her bed and never get out of it had never been pursued. Judy did not want to be remembered by those that were at the station, if Starkey and the death of an innocent bunny would always be tacked onto her name whenever she was talked about. She would go back to what was comfortable, and maybe she would heal there.

She thought for a long while about whether or not she should tell Nick about her plans. Once, she had told Nick everything. She did not have many deep, dark secrets, but even the vaguely dark ones were said to him. She trusted him with everything. She had not heard everything there was to hear about Nick Wilde, but she was fine with that. Judy had once believed that she had had time to learn plenty about him. She would have years with him, and maybe one day she would fully understand his whole self. That was what she had thought before. After the photographs, after she had made the decision to leave, Judy went back on her no secrecy policy. She did not tell Nick a single thing about her plans. It would be a clean break, and he would live his life as she lived hers, 211 miles away. It would be fine, and he would be happier as a result of it. He would not be dragged down by a depressed bunny, too consumed with her own self-destruction to be of any worth. Perhaps he already felt that way about her. Ultimately, it would all be for the best.

"You don't want anyone to know?" Asked Bogo.

Judy confirmed, "No one."

The buffalo looked very hesitant, a very uncommon look on him. "Hopps, I think your partner has the right to know. I can understand why you're feeling the way you are, why you wish to leave us. But leaving Wilde in the dark will not help anything. It might put him in the same state of mind you're in now."

"I want a clean break," said Judy stiffly. This was another one of the lines she had practiced in the car ride over. She said it blandly, deliberately keeping a shake out of her voice, and blinked far too much as she said it, betraying the way she truly felt. She knew Bogo saw directly through her, but was somewhat encouraged by this. Then he might really take her words to heart. "It's for the best."

"This isn't just about you. This involves the whole force."

"Does it?" Asked Judy. "I know we like to emphasize teamwork here at the ZPD, being a collective entity, and all that. But this is about me. This is about my mental health, my wishes."

"As a collective entity, then, you can understand why I want to keep the officers staying with me in a healthy state of mind. You can understand why an ex-employee's intentions toward the partner she was overly fond of do not matter as much."

Judy ignored the barb. If she began to argue, she would not stop. She would take everything out on Bogo, and the buffalo did not deserve it. This is why she had just wanted to be allowed to leave. She fixed her eyes on the buffalo, giving him her most resolute look. She had to convince him. She could not let Nick be hurt. "Then I'm… I'm asking you as a friend, Bogo. I don't want anyone getting hurt because of me, not again. I want to leave by my own terms."

The buffalo was silent. Eventually, he spread his hooves, a gesture of his defeat. "I'll do what you ask, Hopps. Go on home. But don't blame me once the fallout comes. I don't want to be held accountable for your partner's inevitable reaction."

"I never expected you to be. Thank you, sir."

Then she went into the bathroom and cried. She tucked her legs up onto the seat, so that no one would see bunny feet dangling a foot or so off the floor. No one would see her cry, no one would see her break down. Judy felt that the apathy and listlessness she felt sometimes was almost preferable to the emotions that sometimes overwhelmed her. Laying in her bed and feeling vaguely sorry for herself seemed much more appealing than crying her eyes out over a toilet bowl. She thought about how much she cared about Nick, and how much she did not want to leave him. She thought of how much she cared about her job. She had just made her plans official, however, and there was no turning back. She was leaving. She would not have to cry over the bowls of overly-large toilets anymore. She thought then of how most everything in Zootopia was too-large, and then she cried even more. This happened very often. She would go long without feeling much of anything, and then everything would just suddenly come out in one large storm. She was going home, but she would miss her job, she would miss the overly-large everything that the city usually offered. She was going to miss Nick, more than anything.

Once she had composed herself as much as was possible, she headed back downstairs to her shared office space. She made eye contact with no one. Not Francine as she entered the restroom as Judy exited. Not Grizzoli, who was heading out for a smoke break. Not Clawhauser, who even without looking, she knew was waving at her as he spoke to someone avidly over the phone. Not even Nick. She walked to her desk, sat down quickly, and attempted to bury herself in words and stacks of paper. It did not work out for her. Nick rolled his chair on over, as he always did. She did not respond to his greeting, continued to not meet his eye. She was afraid he would see her guilt, see her secrets. He knew everything about her, he would know immediately, it felt like. He reached towards her, holding her jaw slightly, tipping her head up so that she would finally face him.

"You've been crying."

"No, I haven't."

"Sure you haven't. I completely believe you. Your eyes are just naturally bloodshot, and they're just always wet around the rim." With one pad of his paw, he wiped off the moisture from below her eyes. He had not been so close, so intimate with her since that night in their cruiser. After she broke down for the first time. His other paw he kept on her face, continuing to cup her jaw. It was a comforting gesture, but Nick also meant it as a sort of vice. He knew that Judy did not like crying in front of anyone. She did not like looking weak, frail. If she had been crying at work, something very bad must have happened. Maybe not worse than the photographs, but something equally as bad. Something that was capable of upsetting her to the point of tears, especially since she had been so cold and unfeeling for some time. He looked straight at her, and it took all of Judy's power to not duck her head, to avert her eyes. The fox knew something was wrong, had known for months. But if she made any move, he might have known exactly what was wrong in that moment. "You know, Carrots, friends are supposed to let friends comfort them. Help them."

"I don't need help," Judy said.

"Sure you don't."

He took her paws off of her, but was clearly not done touching her. Judy allowed it to happen. She wondered if Nick would ever want to see her again, after she left. Even though she was trying to cause him the least amount of pain possible, he would be mad, that she had gone off without a word. Without a warning. She knew him. One of his best friends, his closest friend, completely disappearing out of his life, maybe forever. Judy would not blame him if he eventually came to hate her, if he just pretended she had never came to him and changed his life. That would make things the least painful, at least for him. She would miss him forever, a constant ache in her chest to go along with the one left by a bunny she had never met. But he could find happiness again. She believed he could.

She let the fox rest his forehead against hers, and was at peace with the fact that they were not getting any work done. That she was close to him, he was close to her, just this once. She could think of it late at night, when she was feeling particularly terrible about herself, and maybe things would be okay again.

"Let's go to that noodle restaurant you like," Judy eventually said. "For dinner." Nick was not pleased that Judy was avoiding the issue, but he had definitely gotten used to that by now. He smiled after he frowned, though. He liked the restaurant, while Judy didn't. It was in the Rainforest District, next to a bathhouse. They did not go very often, as it had the tendency to make Judy sick to her stomach. And they had not gone out to eat together in a very long time, Judy either not feeling up to the task of getting up and doing much of anything, or not wanting to risk a stomach ache. Sitting in her room, either feeling nothing or feeling overly sorry for herself was much better than watching Nick enjoy himself while she awaited a basically ensured stomach trouble for the night. He always slurped up the food at the eating speed of a growing teenage boy, barely restraining himself from licking the salty, slightly tangy sauce left behind in the bowl once all the noodles. Judy usually opted for a salad.

Nick pulled himself away from her, and Judy felt tears threatening to come out again, prickling at the edges of her eyes. What was wrong with her? Nick looked at her very seriously, studying her closely.

"What's the special occasion?" He asked slowly. "You hate that place."

"You like it. That's enough for me."

She had to pack her things. She had to say goodbye to the Grand Pangolin Arms. She wasn't very upset about this. It was much easier for her to pack the first time she had left Zootopia, since she had only been in the city for about a month at that point. After nearly three years spent living there, Judy had accumulated more stuff. The narrow room had gotten more and more cluttered, but she had never thought about moving to a larger place. Unless it was a very detailed daydream about moving into Nick's apartment and living completely alongside him, Judy had never really considered getting out of her first apartment, her first home away from home. Maybe she liked the closeness of the place, similar to the narrow hallways and cramped rooms she had grown up in. Maybe she always knew she would be going back to Bunnyburrow at some point.

Her wardrobe had not expanded much while she had been in the city. Leggings and big tee shirts were more common than anything else, though there were many more shirts with "ZPD" emblazoned on them than there had been before she had come to the city. A Gazelle shirt from the first concert she had ever been to. She had a few touristy shirts, in gaudy colors and printed with the words "Anybody Can Be Anything". Nick had gotten them as an ironic birthday present, but she enjoyed them much more than he had ever expected.

Her walls were more decorated than anything. There were two posters, only one of which she rolled up with care and put in her suitcase. A signed Gazelle poster, not just her name was on the poster; the popstar had written her a long thank you note after the whole Bellwether business had been sorted out, and sent her a handful of tickets for a concert. The other one was a poster that Nick had taped to the wall to tease her, a leftover from that period of time when the ZPD had considered making her their public face. She was there, in uniform, and smiling. She did not like looking at it, and even though Nick had given it to her, she did not want it with her in Bunnyburrow.

Along with the poster, she got rid of her corkboard, her whiteboard as well, along with all of her friendly reminders. She had once covered her apartment in encouragements written on little post-its, designed to bring up her mood with their generalized positivity. She had read about it on some lifestyle blog, and enjoyed the idea of it. As her moods continued to plummet, they were quite useless. They went in a garbage bag, as did all the things she had pinned to her corkboard. Memos, ticket stubs, newspaper articles and thank-you notes. The only thing she kept from all this were the funny, inappropriate, or funny and inappropriate drawings and words Nick had pinned to the board. She put these in the cover of a romance novel, something to read on the train, something to look over when she got lonely. Everything else went into the trash. The whiteboard had originally been used to help her remember important meetings or events coming up, but eventually became something for Nick to play with when he was bored in Judy's cluttered little apartment. He would write all over it, drawing crude doodles sometimes, much like what he put on her post-its and on her corkboard. She erased it all. She gave the board itself to her landlady, figuring she might have some use for it.

She had pictures of her friends lining the walls. Mostly of Nick, or of Nick and herself. Selfies, excursions into photo booths, shots other animals had taken. There were pictures of Clawhauser, too, and one nice shot of her and Mrs. Otterton that was taken the last time she had seen her, a few months ago at one of her boys' birthday party.

Judy's favorite was a picture of her and Nick. It was at Frou Frou Big's baby shower a few weeks after Judy's return to the ZPD, a triumphant and happy time, one she sometimes looked back on fondly. Kevin had taken the picture on his phone, and made especially sure that it was sent to Judy. They were seated in front of the table where all the arctic mice were standing on, going about party business. Judy had an ear turned toward the rodents, but it was clear that most of her attention was on Nick, and that all of his was on her. The polar bear had sent it to her phone along with a string of heart emojis. Judy gracefully ignored these, though her own heart sped up a little at the sight of how her and the fox looked. They looked like they were in love, almost. Completely engrossed with one another. She had a physical copy of the photograph almost as soon as she had access to a printer. She packed these carefully into a side pocket of the case. The picture where she and Nick clung to each other in the driver's seat of their cruiser, the one piece of evidence against Starkey that had never gone to court, that went into her wallet. She liked these photos. They sometimes helped her forget the other ones.

She reverently packed the fox's Depelk Mode sweatshirt along the bottom of the case. He would never be getting it back. The little cactus she had bought on an impulse in Rainforest District a few months ago remained on her windowsill. Maybe it would still be alive for whoever came to her room next.

Her last week on the force was spent doing the things Nick liked. No one knew it was her last week on the force, except for herself and Bogo, and although Judy had not wanted any sort of farewell shindig, she ended up throwing a long drawn-out one for just herself and her partner. It was all for Nick's benefit, not hers. She wanted him happy, wanted to cushion the blow of her leaving. For though she wanted to spare him all pain, she knew that was not totally possible. Sometimes when her negative feelings overwhelmed her, she would think that no one actually liked her as much as she thought they did. She made herself believe for a while that no one cared about her the way she cared about others, even Nick. But no matter what her brain thought up, part of Judy knew this could never be true. Nick did care about her, and there was no way he would not be damaged some way by Judy leaving him suddenly.

She was softening the blow before it landed, kissing a wound better before it was even there. They went to his favorite restaurants, where the food was too spicy or exotic for Judy's extremely homely tastes. They did his favorite things. They wandered through record stores for hours, just looking, never buying anything. They just walked around in the evenings, through some of his favorite parts of town. They watched other animals, guessed what might be going on in their lives, what their personalities were like. She asked him to tell her stories and jokes, the ones she normally protested to for their vulgarity. They listened to his favorite music. One night, they got spectacularly drunk at his favorite bar.

Not the night before Judy was leaving, though. At that time, she might have been emotionally and mentally compromised enough to tell the fox the truth, to reveal everything. To go home with him that night, and not leave until the next morning. A Wednesday night was much safer, a time where Judy was not sad enough to tell all to her partner. The next day, when she was spectacularly hungover and Nick remarkably fine, they went to his favorite coffeeshop, instead of drinking the watery brew available at the station.

He might have suspected that something was up, because Judy was suddenly interested in things again. Suspicion did not cloud any of their interactions, however, and Nick didn't even attempt to be wary of Judy's attempts to have fun and spend time with him. He must have been so relieved to end the period of her listlessness that he did not even care that it came so suddenly, and not with any sort of transition period. He was happy. He smiled around Judy, and he joked around. He forgot himself in his joy, and touched Judy more than he had before. He was quick to lay a paw on her shoulder, to hook an arm around her waist when they were just walking down the street in the afternoon. The night they went to his favorite bar, he kissed her on the top of her head, and she was drunk enough to giggle at the gesture, instead of batting it away.

It made her even sadder to leave, but she knew it must be done at this point. She listened to her angstiest music (not even particularly angsty— she had a little too much bubblegum pop on her phone) as she got onto the train. She tried not to think of Nick's face when he received the news that she was gone. They would hand him the keys to the cruiser, assign him to a new partner. He would have to find someone new to spend most of his time with. He would have to find someone else open-minded enough to be with a fox during all of their work hours. He would have to cope with his loss without having anyone to turn to. He did not let many things get to him, but when they did, Judy was there for him. Not anymore.

She tried not to feel guilty. She turned her music up, and stared out the window of the train. She was heading back to Bunnyburrow.


	4. Chapter 4

It was mid-April when she came home. She sat alone on the train, listening to music and feeling thoroughly awful. It was a little after nine o'clock in the morning. Planting season. No one was leaving Bunnyburrow, and not many were coming in. Most everyone was in the fields, hoeing, sowing, or weeding. There was a sort of symmetry to it all. She had left home in spring, and now she was coming back in spring. By train. All alone. It was different, though, in that she had left being more excited than anything. She came back with a heavy heart, an emotional burden that was not likely to be lifted from her shoulders anytime soon. Most mammals were working outdoors, but not everyone was busy. Some were just enjoying the nice spring day after a long winter. Judy was thankful that some of her family were in the latter category, so she would have someone waiting for her when she arrived. When there are over two hundred capable pairs of paws to work in the soil, not everyone always needed to be working.

It was the weekend, one of those Saturdays where she and Nick didn't have to go into work until noon. She had left specifically for this reason, as she knew Nick would not be awake until sometime around eleven, would be half asleep even by noon, when he would take at least two minutes to drag himself out onto his front stoop, to get into the car where Judy was not-so patiently waiting. He would be late for work, without Judy there. But Bogo would cut him some slack, he would realize what had happened that morning. He would listen to Nick's worrying and keep a passive expression. He would lie. He would tell the fox that he had no idea where Judy Hopps was, but he would let him know as soon as he did. He was sure she was okay. She could take care of herself, et cetera, et cetera.

Her sister was the only one standing on the platform for her. Addie had on a pair of stained jeans and a ratty tee shirt. She had dirt smudged over her nose. Addie looked a lot like their father, short and stocky, rather than Judy's short and thin. She was one of two in her litter that had not yet moved out of the house to start a family of her own. More from a lack of interest in that sort of thing than from a lack of opportunity. She looked tired. She had been working nonstop for the past few days, and was finally getting a long-deserved break. She smiled widely as Judy stepped off of the train, coming forward quickly and taking Judy's suitcase.

"Welcome home, Judith," she said, provincial accent much more pronounced than Judy's. "Are these your only bags?"

"Don't call me that," Judy replied, almost automatically, pushing at her sister's shoulder. She adjusted her knapsack, pulled out her earbuds and sticking her phone in her sweatshirt pocket. "And yeah, just the case and this little one."

They left the platform, heading for the little car park that was across the street. Judy's phone went off, for the first time that morning. This was not normal. It was just after nine, much too early for the fox who valued every hour of sleep he got. It should have been three or four hours until Nick realized something was off, that something had happened to her. Her ears had been droopy for months, but she felt them drag down just a fraction more. She felt terrible, though she had felt pretty good about herself that morning as she left for the train station that would take her back to Bunnyburrow, suitcase in hand and hood over her head.

Judy was proud of herself. As it had happened, she had managed to execute her plan perfectly. She had been able to say goodnight the night before very calmly, with only as much emotion as was normal. She hugged him, which she normally kept herself from, but that was the only real deviation from her normal behavior. Nick was surprised at that, but he reciprocated the hug with feeling. He squeezed her tightly, and said goodnight, holding her just a second longer than was considered friendly. Or maybe she just imagined it. But it felt real. She relished it. She would think on it for a long time, this she knew. Her last memory of Nick.

She was very pleased with her playacting; Nick had not realized a thing. Which explained why he seemed to be so worried about her the next morning. The calls kept coming. She ignored them, she clicked her lock button twice so that the calls would be dropped. So then, Nick would know she was ignoring him. He would know she was alive, at the very least. Maybe he would give up. There were texts, too. Probably asking why she wasn't picking up. Wondering why she was ignoring him, if she was angry, if she was okay. Or maybe he was just telling her playfully to get out of bed, that he wanted a bagel for breakfast. The latter was doubtful.

Addie looked at Judy curiously. Her phone had started ringing again. "Aren't you going to pick that up?" She asked.

"No." Judy pressed the power button on the side of her phone, silencing the ring once more.

"Well, all right. I won't ask why."

"Thank you."

"I never really heard why you were coming home, Judy, but I'm happy you're here."

Judy wasn't happy that she was home. And still, she wasn't sure if she would ever feel truly happy again. She would just have to wait and see. More than anything, she just felt guilty. Guilty that she was leaving, guilty that she had not told Nick anything. But it was all already done. And Bogo wouldn't break his promise, that she was sure of. Nick would find out eventually what had happened, as he always found out everything. And once he found out, Judy knew he would not care about hearing back from her again. He would be mad. But in the meantime, the calls kept coming. Once the two bunnies got to the truck, Addie did not pull keys out of her pocket and unlock the door. She threw Judy's suitcase into the truck bed, brushed her hands on the thighs of her pants, and kicked the door of the cab.

"Unlock the door!" She shouted, to be heard through the closed window. There was movement within, and the door on the passenger side swung open. Another one of her sisters was in the driver's seat, and looked very unimpressed at her siblings. Judy knew now why Addie had been the only one to meet her on the platform. Lee put forth a lot of effort to be unimpressed with everything. She was grey-furred like Judy, but she had their dad's round brown eyes, rather than Judy and Addie's almond-shaped violet ones. She looked a lot nicer than Addie clothes-wise, and Judy knew that Lee hadn't been doing much work that day. Lee was a lot like Judy, in that she was not exactly interested in being carrot farmer. She, however, did not have the clear goals that Judy had once had. She just knew she didn't want to do what her parents wanted. Even though the farm was way too busy to have her leave, other than a quick run to the train station for Judy's sake, the young bunny had still drawn a dark line over her eyelids.

Addie climbed in first, and patted her lap, motioning for Judy to join her. Judy must have looked unsure about it, because Lee rolled her eyes and tapped her paws impatiently on the steering wheel. "Just get in, Jude," she said. "We don't have all day."

"I thought that you would be happy to spend as much time off the farm as possible," Judy responded, getting into the cab. She tried to joke around, like her sisters had always been used to. She sat on Addie's lap, and did not think of the legality of fitting three bunnies in a cab that only seated two. It was completely against the law, but she couldn't do anything. She had handed in her badge. She was just a regular bunny now, and she would do her best to remember that. She just breathed deeply and calmly, looking out the window. Flat fields, empty rows that would soon be sprouting. Life for the Hopps family as usual. She looked down at her feet. The cab of the truck smelled like dirt, sweat, and faintly of carrot, more from the air freshener hanging from the rearview mirror than from the produce the truck often carried around. Addie smelled like soap, the fur on her forearms still slightly wet from an early morning shower. It was all familiar, but it did not quite seem like home anymore. She had built her own home in Zootopia, with Nick. She hoped that feeling would change.

"That's what we always thought about you," said Lee.

"Yeah, well. Things change."

"What happened? We know about the case, with the mole, but not much else. No details. We all thought it was strange when mom got that call last week," Lee told Judy. She kept her eyes straight on the road, but she was leaning towards her sisters, clearly very interested in just _why_ Judy had given up on all her dreams. She had been waiting for this subject to be mentioned, the whole time. Perhaps that was the only reason why she wanted to drive Judy home from the train station. Lee was not a mean bunny, but she did like to talk. She would have plenty to talk about if Judy told her anything, even a small piece.

"Doesn't matter," said Addie sharply. "Let her alone, Lee."

"Don't be mean," Judy scolded her older sister, though she was glad she had intervened. She did not want to talk about the case. She wanted the past behind her. Bunnyburrow was clean, untouched. Safe. Nothing there had been touched by what happened to her, what had ruined her. She wanted it to stay that way. "Did you finally get your permit, Lee?"

"Yeah." She sounded bored, and was clearly unhappy that Judy was not giving her any juicy details about her seemingly inexplicable departure from Zootopia. "That's why Addie had to tag along. She'd rather be up to her neck in dirt. We didn't want you to put up a fuss about the 'illegality' of me driving alone, you being a cop and all."

"I'm not a cop anymore," Judy said, much more sharply than she meant to.

There was no conversation after that.

The Hopps farmhouse was at the end of a long dirt drive. Big and white, with a wraparound porch and a tiny attic serving as a second floor. It was an interesting place, structure wise, and it had been there for quite a few generations. Ever since Zootopia had been founded, ever since prey and predator alike needed a steady food source. Bunnies did not exactly like being up high. Most of their buildings did not go above one floor, and it had been considered very strange that Judy had lived on the third floor of her apartment building. And so, the Hopps house was large and sprawling, more and more rooms and wings being added on over the years as more and more kids were being born. When they could not build outward anymore, having fields in the way, they burrowed. Half of Judy's home was underground, warm and dimly lit. It was cramped, full of bunnies and all their things. It was cozy and comfortable and familiar.

She shared a room with several of her siblings, so her room had not been untouched in all the time while she was gone. She was not surprised. Her bed was covered in stuff that wasn't hers. A veritable mountain of clean clothes that no one had ever bothered to hang up or place in a drawer, shirts someone had tried on and then discarded. A few books, a page of algebra homework that one of her brothers was probably missing very dearly. There was a baseball cap from her high school, a Fighting Carrot embroidered onto the front. She put it on backwards, and began clearing off her bed. In actuality, she just picked it all up and threw it onto her brother Davie's bed. Then she threw herself onto her bed.

Directly onto a pair of headphones. Wincing, she dug them out from under her and threw them across the room, not looking to see where they landed. If they were just sitting on her bed, they probably didn't work, so it didn't matter if she flung them away as hard as she could. Her parents expected her to just drop off her things and come right outside to help them, or at least to just talk to everyone, try to catch up. But Judy wasn't leaving again. She was going to live her whole life on the farm, it was turning out. She was living the life her parents had always wanted. She would have plenty of time to get together with her family. She had had plenty of time by herself, of course, but just a little longer would be fine. She had become an expert at feeling sorry for herself, and she didn't want to lose the skill.

She was sitting in her childhood room, her childhood secrets still buried somewhere underneath her bed. Her sheets were worn from years of use, the quilt she was laying on had been sewn by paw just for her. It was all hers. She was home, and she knew this was the best place she could be. She never would have been able to get better if she had stayed in Zootopia, kept her place among the Police Department. Reminded constantly of what had transpired, consistently being praised on her work for the Bryan Starkey case. She would only ever be able to think of her failings, the animals she had gotten hurt while she was supposed to be protecting them. She was on the force, but she would always be looking up at a glass ceiling, just one bunny could never change the world as much as she had set out to do. She would have only been met with failure, and she figured it was best that she had gotten hit with it early. If it had been longer, maybe a decade, maybe two, she would have been utterly crushed. A bunny could only be strong and unbreakable for so long, even if she was living a good life, with no challenges like Starkey thrown her way. Knowing that her goals would never be met within her lifetime, it would have made her useless. Broken. Judy would have given up eventually. She believed that she wouldn't have been able to keep herself intact long enough to even make the decision to go to Bunnyburrow.

At the end of things, in the depths of herself, she knew these thoughts did not have much proof behind them. But she could not stop the dark thoughts. They just kept coming, and she had no one who knew what she was really going through. No one could tell her to stop thinking _this_ specific thought, _that_ specific thought. They made her feel wrecked and frail, and so the thoughts got darker and dug deeper. She had broken when the ultimate horror had been thrown at her, and that was no fault. She could feel, she could feel the utmost emotion, and there was nothing wrong with that. But she wanted someone there next to her, someone who could help her through it.

Nick could have done all that. He could have stood with her, lent her strength to weather the storm she had gotten swept up in. He would have held her, and they would keep each other safe. But Nick was Zootopia, and Zootopia was Nick. Zootopia had been ruined for her, but the fox never would have left his city. He never would have come to Bunnyburrow. He was her friend, but he would not follow her to what he saw as the ends of the earth. And that was fine. She did not need him to become healthier, to live a better life for herself. She would not be dependent on anyone, even if she was dependent on the animal she loved more than anyone else in the world. She would have both, or she would have none. She had chosen none, because even with Nick at her side, she was not sure if she could have made it. She was sure that she never would have been happy, at any rate.

The fox was a good animal, and he valued others whom he saw kindness in. But unlike Judy, he did not see an inherent kindness in everyone. He had lived a tough life, and he had seen evils at a young age that Judy had not experienced until she was a fully grown rabbit. And he had stayed strong through it all. He had become a successful, funny, and handsome fox despite the horrors that had been forced upon him. He should have been Judy's rock during her most difficult time. But she had been cowardly. She had been weak and scared, and she refused to reach out and accept the help that Nick would have surely offered her. None or both. She chose none.

Judy looked at her ceiling and tried her best to not think of anything in particular. She was all alone in a room that should have been the most comfortable in the world, but she was just lonely. And if she kept thinking of that, she knew she would start crying again. She had come back to Bunnyburrow to escape from the shadow that seemed to have cast itself across herself in her entirety. She did not want to think about it. She had to think about it, but she did not want to. She had cried enough in the past few months to last her a lifetime, and she told herself she was done with it. She had come home to find her happiness again, and she was going to try her damndest to get it. She had her resolve, and then she did her best to cleanse her mind. She ran through bars of songs she liked in her head, and just laid there.

She was brought out of her reverie, or rather, the lack of one, by the sound of xylophones. One of her brothers, who was in the school band, did play the xylophone and other such things in his class, but he had not rolled the instrument into their room to play Judy an impromptu piece. It was her phone. It was Nick. She missed Nick. She pressed the lock button on her phone, silencing his ring tone for the nth time that morning. She burrowed her head into the sweatshirt she was wearing, inhaling the smell of the fox that still clung to the collar.

She was left alone until it was lunch time. She had fallen asleep at some point, though she hadn't thought herself capable of it. Her bed was much softer, much less rickety than the one she had in the Grand Pangolin Arms. But her bed there was what she had become used to, and now the mattress worn comfortable by many bunny bodies had seemed unfamiliar. Inhospitable. It was not the bed she had looked forward to returning to everyday after work. It was not the bed she had spent countless nights in, thinking about Nick. But she dropped off to sleep, anyway. She did not dream, which she was thankful of. It would have been nightmares, if it had been anything.

Lee woke her up by shaking her shoulders. She had one paw in her pocket, fiddling with something inside it. The other paw had Judy's phone in it. After a few months on the force, she had put it in a protective, if not stylish case. Nick had plastered the back of it with junior detective stickers he had taken out of her tool belt when she wasn't looking. As some peeled off, he would replace them, creating a gold, white, and slightly sticky mess on the back of the bulky case. Lee had opened it up to the lock screen, which showed that she was locked out of it for twenty minutes. Her sister had been trying to get into it, then. Judy was a little groggy, a little sore around the eyes, though she had not been crying. She had felt like it, but the tears never came. She was still able to reach out and take her phone with a speed that was astonishing, narrowing her eyes at her sister.

"Why were you going through my things?" Asked Judy.

Lee laughed, not cruelly. "Did you forget what it was like to have sisters? Of course I was going to look at it, it was ringing off the hook. Anyway, Dad has lunch ready. Come on up when you're ready, Jude."

"Free pass to try and rifle through your phone?"

"You'll have to be sneaky about it. Who's Nick?"

Judy was surprised to hear his name here, in Bunnyburrow, for a second. Outside of her own head, that is. She wondered what Lee had read about her, what she had figured out. Maybe she could have read that article by that nosy aardvark, where Nick had been vaguely mentioned, and then she went digging. Lee was good at digging up dirt, and Judy was slightly terrified at the thought of someone else finding out the truth of her feelings for Nick. But then she realized that no one could have realized that from one insipid article about her habits and her interests. Even Lee was not that good. She kept her feelings buried deep, let them tear her up from the inside. It was better than breaking a taboo, going against what she had been raised to believe. You can only go so far out on a limb. Judy had gotten enough prejudice for wanting to be a cop and having the gall to be a bunny at the same time. She did not want to add an interspecies relationship on top of that, making everything more difficult for her. More painful. Her sister had just seen the caller I.D. on her phone's screen. That was it.

"A friend," Judy told her. "Why?"

"He's called you twenty-six times."

Judy's ears flattened against her head in shock. Nick was more worried than she thought he would have been. More concerned for her wellbeing. She knew he cared, but twenty-six calls, and, once she checked, nineteen texts was a lot more care than she expected. She would have been touched, maybe even blushy at the thought of it. But Lee was standing above her, she had a family to face, and as soon as she thought about how sweet it all was, she then felt terrible.

She had chosen not to tell Nick about her leaving because she thought it would be for the best. She thought the hurt would be easier to take if it came all at once, instead of him looking forward and dreading the day her departure took place. If it came fast, like ripping off a bandage, it would not take as large a toll. She had taken to this idea, and dedicated her whole self to it. She pursued it with a single-mindedness which characterized her, and didn't deviate from her goal. It was the Judy Hopps way. But she had been wrong to take his agency out of the whole thing. In trying to avoid inflicting pain to Nick, she had just brought about more than was necessary. She had made a mistake. She still wouldn't answer the phone, however. She would stick to her resolve. She would stick to her decision. Not necessarily because it stuck to her moral code, but because she did not want to explain herself to Nick. She had just been a coward, and had not wanted to deal with a tough conversation. That was the truth of it. She still did not want to.

She would give it time, and maybe she would feel more up to the task. Or maybe she would give it time, and Nick would give up on her. It would hurt, but it would be easier. That's what she told herself, anyway.

"That's a lot of calls," Judy said simply.

"Why?"

"I'm not sure, Lee."

Lee looked unimpressed, as was usual. She clearly didn't believe Judy, but Judy wasn't trying hard to convince her. She wanted her sister to know that it was just really none of her business. Judy would keep what was in the past in the past. And she had made her choice, unfortunately. Nick was in the past. He would stay that way. At least, that is what she said. A picture of them together at a Gnu Order cover band concert was still her lock screen. He was wearing a gross, holey shirt he had had for the band since he was in high school. Slouchy, stained jeans completing the ensemble. He looked like himself, not the pristine image he put off while in his uniform, the composed and indistinct persona that was meant to make mammals feel safe. He was not a con mammal, either, dressed in a sleazy tropical-print shirt and too-small khakis. He was himself, and he looked happy, slightly buzzed with a paw just barely holding Judy around her waist. Her homescreen was a picture of him with chocolate smeared all over his teeth after eating a pastry chock full of the stuff when they had gone to a coffeeshop on a break maybe nine months before. Just before the photographs started flooding in.

She would not change any of it. She felt a painful twinge every time she saw the images, but it was an almost good sort of pain. She left Nick behind, but she did not want to forget him. She would never forget him, even if she did want to.

"Just come upstairs," said her sister.


	5. Chapter 5

Judy squatted low in the dirt, uncaring whether or not she got dirt and moisture on her jeans. The sun was not high or hot yet, but she still wore a straw hat to protect her eyes from it. It was not extremely early, but still early enough that there was still dew clinging to the grass, to the tiny little sprouts that had just started shoving up through the soil. One of her little brothers was on his knees next to her, joining her in the mind-numbing, repetitive task of weeding. She set to the task with her usual single-mindedness, and methodically looked over each little patch in the garden, looking for little unwanted plants, scanning the soil she dug through with her paws, ensuring she saw no weevils squirming around. She monitored the tiny stalks of the growing plants, making certain there were no little green aphids sucking them dry. She did not have any large shears to go at the plants with, just using the pads of her paw in case she needed to snap off any dead stalks, any dying leaves from the little plants.

It was too much work to do this close of an observation in her family's larger and wider fields, but she was able to do it in the herb garden. It was small enough that she was able to make sure most everything was perfect. For the first time in Judy's life, at least for the first time in a long time, she was able to be certain of everything that was going on. She could ensure that all the plants were healthy, that they were safe from parasites and any cold nights that stubbornly persisted into late April, early May. Everything was nicely planned out and expected. It was her dad's herb garden, his little pet project that sat aside until he was done with his actual work. But in the time Judy had been back in Bunnyburrow, two weeks steadily growing into three, the herb garden had become her own. She could control it, make it cater to her. The only forces she had only limited control over were her youngest siblings, who often joined her there in the mornings, when she weeded, and evenings, when she watered all her plants. And even then, they usually did what she asked them to. Usually. She had to smack little paws away from the plants sometimes, getting Beau or Charlotte or however many of them were out there with her to not shove the mint leaves which were sitting so tantalizing on their stalks into their greedy little mouths.

She was not happy, by any means. But she was not unhappy, either. She was comfortable. She had never wanted to be a farmer, but she adapted to the routine well. If she wasn't in her garden, she was wrist deep in the soil of the actual fields. Her family grew a lot of different crops, so there was always some variety. Carrots, of course, but other vegetables as well. Fruit, too. She steered clear of the blueberries. They were just bushes at this point, but she still kept away. They made her think of things she didn't want to. Her siblings had been doing this their whole lives, but Judy had been a sort of exception to the rule. She believed she was going places, so after school, while her brothers and sisters went to work in the fields, she would sit in the damp cool in the burrows underneath the house proper, her nose in her homework or in her books. She had helped, sometimes, but she was never exactly the most help. So she put herself in the worn paws of her siblings, who made her remember what she had forgotten, and taught her what she didn't yet know. She was quickly caught up in the relationships and petty squabbles and rivalries that made them a family. It was like she had never actually left. It was like nothing had ever happened. And that's what made it comfortable, and safe.

She became acclimated to it all. Farm life had a nice routine. It seemed like a routine was the only thing that appealed to her anymore. She wanted things she could expect and control, things that would not shock or upset her. She became acclimated to the smell of the soil, the airy and light scent that came when they didn't have rain for a few days. The thick, heavy, and moistness of it when she went into her garden in the mornings. It would coat her feet after heavy rain, and was almost as hard to clean off as cement, clinging to her fur and keeping her from going inside until Addie took mercy upon her and came at her with a hose.

Everything was just barely sprouting out of the ground, green smudges in the vast brown of the ground, and it was beautiful. Judy had no clear goals, nothing like her dream to be a police officer keeping her from ignoring the gorgeousness of the land around her. Sometimes she just wanted to sit in the sun and the dirt, every picture of a bunny. Blade of grass in her mouth, taking in the smell and feel of the land she worked so hard to tend. It was honest, basic work, and she relished going to it every day. She woke up vaguely contented, dragged herself out of bed, and went to bed every night tired enough that she fell asleep as soon as she hit the pillow. She did not dream most nights, and when she did, the nightmares came less often.

She still blamed herself. For everything that had happened. The failure that came through Starkey's verdict, the horror he inflicted upon the city and the department in revenge. The vendetta the mole had against her, the innocent rabbit who got caught in the crosshairs that had only ever been aiming at Judy. It was a constant sourness in the back of her mouth, a shadow in the corner of her vision. The guilt was constant, but she was learning how to stomach it. She ate good, clean food grown with her own two paws to drown out the bitterness. She stood in the sunlight and burnt her twitchy nose to drive away the shadows. She was learning to cope, slowly but surely. It was not sudden, but she was sure that she had made the right decision, coming to Bunnyburrow.

She had never learned to cook, growing up. She ate whatever was put in front of her quickly, and would bound off to whatever she was reading, whatever she was studying to get her closer to her goal. She did not care to help with its production, she was always just concerned with putting more fuel in the tank, doing whatever it took to get her from point A to point B. She was fed in the Academy from a cafeteria, and once she was on the force, she couldn't have cooked even if she wanted. Her apartment complex had a shared kitchen, on the ground floor. It was usually taken by the Oryx-Antlersons, who were always doing something disgustingly cute and domestic in the space that Judy wanted to be nowhere near them. She helped some in her parents' kitchen, however, after her return. It took a lot to feed such a large family, and mom and dad were thankful for another pair of paws, no matter how inexperienced and inept they were.

She was relegated to cutting up things and maybe monitoring whatever was boiling on the stove, but it was still something to do. She was almost surprised her parents let her handle a knife. Judy greatly valued this busy work, these things that were just something to do. It distracted her from thinking about all those dark things she was trying to leave behind. Of course, they were always there, and she was never totally free of all of them. They came back sometimes, at the most inopportune times. Judy would be bending down in her herb garden, and just starting to cry as all of her self-loathing decided to make itself known in one huge blow, a stream of thought that beat up on her until her mom had to come over and make her go inside. She would just be sitting with Addie, reading a book or holding a basket of yarn while her sister knitted on whatever her new project was. Though she knew she should be enjoying time with her sister, she just felt nothing. If anything, she was just tired. There had been no in between, in the past. But now it was not just self-loathing or total apathy. There were other emotions in the mix. She was in no way whole again, and it was possible she never would be again. Recovery would be a constant struggle, something she would always strive for. But she was okay, most of the time.

She thought of Poppy Glenn often, but not as much as she had in previous months. She would never forget the bunny, but now she did not just think of her dead body, mutilated and mangled pieces of her used to guilt and manipulate Judy into hating herself. She thought about how, although the bunny had been in Zootopia studying, she had likely come from a place just like Bunnyburrow. Maybe she had spent rapidly warming spring days under the sun, feet buried in loamy soil, stains in her jeans that would never completely come out. She probably had lots of siblings, parents, a girlfriend who loved her. Judy had never had more than short flings, relationships that lasted for a few weeks before the burned out, or one night encounters that she scrubbed off in the shower the next day. She was always focusing more on her career goals than having a romance. She wondered what it was like to have someone to be dedicated to, one-hundred percent. To have someone feel the same way about her, to want to spend all her time with one animal, to be totally intertwined with another animal.

Her family still did not really know why she had come back to Bunnyburrow. They had read about the Starkey case in brief mentions in their local paper, and sometimes pulling up more in depth articles on their phones. But they didn't know that Judy was the target of the photos, not the entire Zootopia Police Department. They did not know that Poppy Glenn had been murdered essentially because of her. They did not know the extent to which Judy blamed herself from the whole messy business, and Judy wanted it that way. She was afraid confiding in them would make them feel the same way. They would see her point and adopt her way of thinking. Or it would make them pity her. She couldn't handle that.

The only one she really came close to telling during that time was Addie. Addie and her parents, but her sister especially. They spent many quiet nights together, after working in the fields all day. Judy and Addie had not gotten along all that well when they were younger. Judy had been too outgoing, too upfront about how she felt. She was quick to voice her thoughts even if they weren't the kindest. But Judy had mellowed out. She could find the appeal in sitting in silence, reading a book she had on an app on her phone, or looking through whatever housekeeping magazine her parents subscribed to but never actually read. They did not sit in the crowded and noisy den during the evenings. Addie's spot was in one of the pantries underground, where it was quiet and well-lit with lights set in the earthen ceiling. She would bring along snacks when they met in the room lined with jars of jams and baskets of sun-dried fruits and vegetables.

Addie looked at peace, her gentle lines and brown fur in repose, sitting on the stool she had dragged down there for the express purpose of being comfortable and quiet. Judy almost told her. Addie did not see Judy's unfathomable emotions as something strange and scary. She allowed herself to be a safe, soft pillar that Judy could lean against. She made Judy feel normal, she asked her about her garden or the book she was reading, and she never asked about the past. She didn't want to hear about Zootopia. She wanted to know what Judy was doing to make her rosemary sprout so quickly, to make its taste so much more pronounced than it had been when Stu had been lord over it. And Addie did not do this for her own gain, so that she could add in a little something about herself and make it about her. She knew Judy needed to unload herself, even if it was just about little things like obsessively picking weeds out of the ground, not letting a single one sprout further than it already had.

Judy appreciated the concern her sister had, and that is why she considered telling her. But telling Addie all about Bryan Starkey and what he had done to Poppy Glenn could ruin it. Addie would see the things Judy had seen, and she would not be the same bunny anymore. She would not be safe and soft and comfortable. She would be just another of her many siblings, someone who kept her distance because she couldn't relate to what Judy had gone through. Judy wasn't willing to sacrifice that. And if she began to talk about her reasons for coming to Bunnyburrow, Nick would inevitably come up. Nick always came up in her mind, and she would keep him there. He was fine up there, but if she spoke about him, she would get too emotional for her own good. Addie would see right through her, she would know, just like Nick had always seemed to know. Her sister was sweet and kind, but she had been brought up to be small-minded, just like Judy had to constantly tell herself not to be.

And so she never told. No one knew but her, and it was better that way. She knew there were benefits to explaining trauma to others and putting into words, but Judy did not want things to change. She wanted it to be comfortable and safe and normal, which was only possible if her family knew as little about her work as possible.

Her garden grew and prospered under her highly attentive care. Judy might have never flourished as much as her row of thyme, or bloom as early as her rosemary. But she was able to grow along with her garden all the same, and got steadily healthier, even just a little bit. She wished she could apply her passion for taking care of her little garden to taking care of her own self, but it essentially functioned in the same way. She had never, ever felt this way about growing things. But suddenly caring for these little living things made her happy. When someone complimented her on her big plants, on her astounding dedication to keeping them healthy, it was like someone complimented her herself. Sitting alone in her garden, working in the fields with her hat firmly keeping her ears against her head, she had all these thoughts that were distinctly like the friendly post-it notes she had once dedicated her apartment with. They were silly thoughts, suited to being on an inspirational classroom poster. "Never give up!", and "Persevere and prosper!", and "Hang in there, baby!". She thought Nick would appreciate these thoughts, and almost thought about texting them to him. She never did.

He had stopped calling, stopped texting. After so long without a response, he had taken a hint. Or, he had assumed Judy had gotten rid of her phone. Or, he thought something bad had happened to her. That was certainly a worst-case scenario. She hoped Bogo wouldn't let him think that. A part of her hoped that he had stopped calling because he knew he could find out more through detective work. A part of her wished he would track her all the way back to Bunnyburrow, take her by the hand and forgive her for just disappearing. He would take her back to Zootopia, and maybe they would be happy. Then she would think herself silly, because it was all impossible.

And if Nick had shown up, he would be hard pressed to get Judy to leave the Hopps farm. She had been fully caught up in the routine of farm work. It had not taken long. Maybe it had taken such a short amount of time because she had clung to it so quickly, didn't let any other options take hold. But it was in her blood, generations of farmers behind her, as well. She did not believe there was any biological component, but she had grown up on the farm and it would be a part of her, even if she hadn't ever wanted it to be. She was becoming familiar with all areas of the farm, where all the different crops were farmed, which parts of the farmstead the members of her family liked to go when they weren't working. She was becoming familiar with the feel of it. The smell, when the sun baked the crops and filled the air with the scent of earth and growing life. She was familiar even the taste of it. The taste of soil clung to things, even after the most vigorous washing.

The only place she didn't go was near the blueberries. The berries were mostly green and hard; it was only just becoming blueberry season in the beginning of May. Still, her siblings would pick through the rows of bushes, plucking whatever was blue or purple from the plant to wash off and sell later that day, or maybe to eat tomorrow. Judy went nowhere near any of it, and if anyone thought it was strange, they didn't say anything about it. They just assumed she was too engrossed with her herbs and whatever book she was reading. Her family knew her well, even after two and a half years of absence from the farm. Only Lee thought something was off about her behavior, and she would sidle up close to her sister, needling her and asking her what was wrong with her, gently trying to steer her towards the berries. Judy let her have her fun, and still stayed clear of them. It was ridiculous that even the sight of Nick's favorite fruit made her upset, but that was how things were. She felt strongly, and she could not help the way she felt. She couldn't see the berries without thinking of him nicking a few off that antelope's fruit stand, or getting so very excited when he saw them in the truck as they drove around Zootopia, reviving their Nighthowler investigation. She could not even smell them without getting emotional, which was a problem at dinner. She would just think of the scent of the fruit on Nick's neck, how he held her close in that pit in the Natural History Museum.

She tried to make herself stop thinking about him. He stopped calling, so he did not care anymore. It was simple as that. But the fox would not get out of her mind, her dreams. She still slept in his Depelk Mode sweatshirt, even though his smell had long faded from it.

Just because Nick was gone did not mean she was incapable of being happy, however. He was a component of her happiness, but he was not the whole of it. She had more ways to find contentment and safety, to put joy into her life that had once been so devoid of it. She grew much closer with her parents than she had been before, learning little details and personal quirks they had that she had never really noticed before. She had her nights with Addie, her days in her garden and in the carrot fields. She had big family dinners that she helped cook, she took long walks outside, and learned how to whistle. She sang loudly (and badly) to the radio when she had to drive into town, to pick up groceries they didn't grow on the farm, or to pick up little bits and pieces for her siblings. She rode her bike through country roads when the dirt was dry and packed hard, going fast enough that it was a miracle she didn't flip over and skin herself. She relearned paw-clapping games and the little rhymes that went along with them, playing them with her younger brothers and sisters. She played card games with her sisters and smacked her older brother Davie whenever he tried to cheat. Lee taught her how to put on eyeliner, which she fell asleep in and smudged all over her fur.

She almost started smiling again.

She was having another one of her quiet nights with Addie, reading some young adult novel she had found laying around. It was okay, but there were a few more vampires in it than she preferred in her literature. At any rate, it was something to complain about and make her sister laugh. Addie stopped laughing when their mom came down into their little basement room, a very serious look on her face. Bonnie brought down the mood quickly.

"Judy," she said. "Could you come with me please?"

Judy was suddenly nervous, though she knew she had done nothing wrong. Or at least, she thought she hadn't. Maybe she had hurt someone's feelings without quite meaning to; it had happened before. Bonnie Hopps had mastered that maternal voice which encouraged guilt and anxiety with just one syllable, and she was using it to its full effect that night. Addie gave Judy an encouraging smile, and Judy followed her mother to her parents' room. Her mom did not say anything the whole way there. She did not even turn to look at her daughter. When they entered the room, Lee was already sitting on the bed, examining her paws very carefully.

"Sit down," Bonnie told Judy. She did not say it sharply, but Judy still flinched. Her mother was not happy. For some reason. "We need to talk."

"About what?"

Bonnie looked at Lee, obviously wanting her to explain. Lee just kept her head down, her ears drooping, her nose twitching. She was feeling guilty about something, and would not meet Judy's eyes. Bonnie sighed.

"Lee showed me a very interesting picture of you after dinner, in a… compromising position. Now, Judy, I'm not getting your father involved in this, I'm just telling you what I think, what I believe is best for you. I just want you to be happy."

Judy looked at Lee. "What picture?"

Bonnie shook her head. "I'm not pulling it out. I don't want to look at it again. It doesn't matter. I want you to know, Judy, that I don't have anything against interspecies anything. I figure hey— it's your life! Do what you want, just as long as I don't have to hear about it! I just want my daughter, my children to be happy. No matter what their lifestyle choices are. But do you have to flaunt it? Think of your safety, Jude!"

Judy shook her head, at a loss. She had no idea what her mother was talking about. Her mother was saying some vaguely offensive things, but she let it slide, if only so she could think about what picture her mother could be talking about.

"Show me the picture."

Bonnie sighed, running a paw over her face. She went to her bedside table, and pulled out a very familiar picture. It had sat in her underwear drawer. It was creased in the middle, from being folded along with her money in her wallet. It was her and Nick. Her and a fox in uniform, curled up tightly against each other in the front seat of their old squad car. They were so close together that it was unclear where the bunny ended and the fox began. She had been crying when Starkey took the picture, overwhelmed by the gory photographs he had just started sending her. Nick had just been comforting her amidst her emotional turmoil, but that was impossible to tell from the picture. She had her head against her neck, and it looked as if she had her mouth against him in a way that was much more than friendly. He was clinging to her back, paws digging into the blue fabric of her uniform. The moment had been purely innocent, but her mother could not possibly be able to tell.

"Mom, that is not what it looks like—"

"Judy, imagine if we were not the ones to find this. Imagine what could have happened to you, how mammals would treat you if they found this out about you."

Judy did not grind her teeth, but she came close. "There isn't a thing wrong with that sort of relationship, mom. And also, no one just goes through mammals' wallets! I don't know why Lee even did that."

"Did you forget what it was like to have sisters?" Lee asked wryly, repeating what she had said when Judy had caught her rifling through her belongings. She saw that her phone was not the only thing Lee had rifled through. She still wouldn't meet her eyes.

"I'm not mad, Lee." That was a lie, because Judy was pretty peeved. But she was more concerned now with convincing her mother that nothing was going on. Her mom said she had no problem with that "lifestyle choice", but she could see the look in her eyes. She thought there was something wrong with it, and Judy was going to let her know that "it" had never happened. "I just don't understand why this is happening. There's nothing going on this picture, and nothing was ever going on. I was never in a relationship with Nick! I'm crying in that picture, not like, kissing him or anything. It's nothing."

"So, that's who mysterious caller Nick is?"

"Be quiet, Lee. Nick? Nick Wilde? Your old partner?" Bonnie groaned, sitting down on her bed. "Judy, did you just never stop to consider what would happen to you? What mammals think of this kind of thing?"

"Do you mean what you think of 'this kind of thing'?" Judy asked dryly.

"Don't do that, Judy. You know I'm just considered for your wellbeing. I want you to be safe."

Judy spread her paws. "Well, mom, it doesn't even matter anymore! Even if I had been like that with Nick, he hates me now."

"What happened?"

"Lee, stop that. Judy, are you being serious?"

"Yes, mom." Judy brought her paws down, her ears flattened against her head. It hurt to say it out loud. But if her mother kept going in this line of thought, Judy knew she would get angry. It was better for her to hurt and end the conversation early, rather than have her mother go on to explain the full state of her ignorance. Bonnie was a kind rabbit, a good mother, but she was small-minded in spite of it. Judy could not blame her, but it still stung. "I'll never see him again."


	6. Chapter 6

Nick saw himself as a sensible guy. This was not to say that he didn't really feel anything. He felt plenty, but he liked to keep it all inside, not necessarily letting it show. He kept his thoughts and feelings bottled up, keeping a casually disinterested look on his face at all times. It was easier to scam that way. It was also easier to not let other animals in that way. He was not comfortable with letting others know how he felt, strangers and those whom he held a bit closer as well. He was not the most open of individuals. Nick was not a totally serious character; he certainly liked his jokes and his tricks. Yet he was not necessarily passionate, he was not impulsive and spontaneous.

Sensible, then, was a good word to describe him. He put a lot of thought towards what he was doing, what the consequences of what he did would be. His whole adult life, the ideal consequence was always a bit of cash. His actions had reason behind them, his emotions were felt, and though they were not entirely rational, as they were emotions, they made perfect sense to him. That is, until he met Judy Hopps.

She was brave and beautiful. Before her, he had never seen a bunny as beautiful, but she was. It was her whole self, her personality and her feelings and her enthusiasm, it all added up and made her overlarge ears, her long feet gorgeous. Her big purple eyes had sucked him in, and held him in a way that nothing and no one ever had. She had changed his life utterly, changed it for the better. He had never expected it, the first time he saw her. She was just another outsider who came to Zootopia thinking she could somehow find a better life. Nick was proven wrong, time and time again. She _had_ found a better life, and found one for him, as well. She had swept him up into a busy world full of inherent goodness and kind works. And before he knew it, he was a fox in a police uniform, a genuinely kind soul again, utterly in love with a beautifully stubborn bunny.

He underestimated her. He really had just seen her as a dumb bunny, even before they met. He had swiped a newspaper off a stand in one of the city's metro stations to read an article about Lionheart's Mammal Inclusion Initiative. It was something to read on the train ride to Finnick's place in Savannah Central, something to bury his nose in so he wouldn't see any judgmental gazes from his fellow passengers. The Mammal Inclusion business had gotten a big deal made out of it. Nick thought it was a decent idea, in some part of his head that wasn't completely disillusioned with the world around him, it would only ever be an idea. He knew he would be disappointed with the movement, but it was interesting to see that he had actually gotten such a tiny little thing to join an organization like the Zootopia Police Department.

He skimmed the article, remarked vaguely to himself that the little bunny would get eaten alive in a place like that, and went about the rest of his day as usual. He hadn't really thought of her again, until he saw her in that ice cream parlor.

He was shocked. He did not show it. He had assumed they would keep the dumb bunny at a desk her whole life. But then again, meter maid was not much of an improvement from desk jockey. He kept a wary eye on the fox repellant on her hip while she scolded the bigoted elephant standing above them, trying hard not to roll his eyes. The bunny talked about animals being treated fairly, being able to do whatever they wanted, when she had a can of fox repellant on her hip. She was full of crap. Fed with sayings from the back of bumper stickers that she regurgitated along with her small-town small-mindedness. That was what he had thought, what he expected from her.

She had surprised him. She had proved to be much more than just a dumb bunny, though he wouldn't admit that to her for a while. She was smart, adapted to the world around her, and was capable of powers of deduction that he could only dream about, or read in mystery novels from the public library. She had completely surprised him at every turn. He was impressed with this bunny, her dedication to saving the bland little otter whose picture she kept flashing at any mammal who made the mistake of making direct eye contact with her.

She was passionate, intelligent, and incredibly stubborn. She managed to befriend crime bosses, was capable of kicking the hell out of bad-tempered sheep, and did a mean impression of a timber wolf howl. She was enthusiastic about everything she did, and she really changed his perspective on things. Even though she had hurt him, even though she had been small-minded, and still had the tendency to act the same way, she made a conscious effort to be better. She wanted Nick to be safe and happy and successful, just like she was. She wanted the same things for the both of them, and she wanted to share the good life she had achieved. That was one of the reasons why he loved her.

Nick had given up on being a good person. He had been judged his whole life, his entire personality and character determined by everyone around him just from his sharp teeth and red fur. Why be anything more than a sly fox, if that was the only thing other animals would see when looking at him? Judy changed that. Judy made him realize that there was a point to trying. There was a point to realizing that there was good in everyone, including himself. He still was not sure if the world could ever be truly made into a better place, but Judy made him want to try. Judy encouraged him to go above expectations, to beat other animals' misconceptions about him. It was on her behalf that he struggled through months of rigorous training and pointless testing on the department's handbook. He had not tried so hard since he was maybe eight years old, and it was hard. He might have given up, if it hadn't been the thought of Judy waiting for him at the end of all of it, eager to work with him and spend her days with him.

Judy didn't give up. Judy was strong, and kind, and funny, and she was _good_. In a world where he had accepted the inherent evil of his fellow mammals, she had turned him around with the force of a small hurricane. If Judy Hopps was around, then not everything could be evil. There was kindness and brightness in the world. Nick felt like she had that impact on a lot of animals besides himself. He figured no one could be untouched when she came into their lives. She was so enthusiastic about her beliefs, especially her belief that being on the force would bring about her ultimate goal. Even the most disillusioned individual, such as himself, when she first met him, couldn't help but be a little convinced. He certainly couldn't help it, though he never actually let her see it.

Judy had given up. It was a long process, and very obviously painful. It hurt Nick, and he wasn't even the one being directly affected by it all. He had been worried from the start. From the very first set of photos, he had been anxious about it all. Judy had just been curious, but he had a bad feeling about it all. Nick wanted Judy to be safe, and he did not like the thought of someone following her around, taking pictures of everything she did. She did not react as strongly as he thought she ought to, but he never said anything about it. He just tried to spend more time with her, so she wouldn't be alone, offered to walk her home so that he might hear the shutter of a camera, even when she did not. She would deny these offers, brush off his worry, and it was endlessly frustrating. But he never said anything about it. He just joked with her, because that was what she liked. That was what she responded to most positively, and he loved to see her smile. It was always a successful day if he had made her snort with laughter, or if she smiled that huge grin that showed all her teeth, when she would embarrassedly cover her mouth with her paw, so he wouldn't see.

And then the pictures got worse. He held her that first night after the pictures were sent, after they had both been rocked to their core. He held her tightly and let her cry into his shoulder, into his neck. She shook and he clung tight. He loved her, he wanted her to be happy and protected again. He did not have to say it, because she surely knew how he felt. He had thought they would have years together. The pictures were heinous, terrible, but they would not last forever. He didn't expect them to affect Judy so much. He thought they would heal, and they might be together. Even though she grew up in a small town with small town ideas, he was sure she felt the same way. So he said nothing that night in their cruiser. He just held her and said everything with that. That was the last time she let him hold her for a very long time.

The only time he was somewhat able to help her during the long autumn and winter months when they got all the pictures of Poppy Glenn.

As the months passed, more mutilated body parts showing up, more invasive pictures of her activities. They were confined to the station, since Bogo did not want Judy to be exposed more than she already was. Nick and Judy were both extremely worried and scared, but they did nothing. It was a time where they should have come closer together, taken refuge in each other's strength. Maybe they could have gotten out of things with both of them intact. But they had just grown apart. Judy needed help, she needed a shoulder to lean on, but she never asked for it. And Nick was never sure what he would have done if Judy had asked him for help. How do you help with something like that? How do you comfort someone who blames themself for chopped up pictures of body parts being sent to them in bulk? He did not offer, because she did not ask, and by the time he wanted to intervene, it was too late. She was too far gone.

They found Starkey, all thanks to Judy. She was an excellent cop, the best at her job out of all of them. But she did not want the praise she got for his eventual capture. She seemed to blame herself for it all. She didn't want to take compliments. It was strange, because Judy had once lived for positivity. It used to be that one kind word thrown her way would make her smile for the next hour. Those days seemed to be gone.

Judy didn't want to do anything. She didn't want to go out for food or for drinks, with Nick or any of her other coworkers. She turned down offers to binge watch The Trotting Dead at his apartment. She just shook her head when Nick offered her the auxiliary cord in the car; she didn't want to sit back and enjoy what had once been her favorite music. It used to be that they spent almost all of their time together, at work and during their leisure time. But then it became that Nick would only see Judy at work, and they would sit in silence on the car rides to the station. She never laughed at any of his jokes, she hardly ever listened to him. She would just sit there, ears drooping, eyes heavily lidded. Robbed of her enthusiasm and her drive, reduced to an unfeeling machine that flipped through gory pictures of the golden-furred bunny without an expression on her face. It broke Nick's heart to see her that way, but he couldn't make himself reach out and help. He couldn't help, he couldn't think of anything he could possibly do for her to make things better. The pictures kept coming, and he could not stop them.

She had made up her mind about something. It was clear, by the look on her face. It had been April, two months since Starkey had pled guilty, eight or nine months since the pictures had started flooding in. There was the determination that he had missed for so long. She had gone up to a meeting with Chief Bogo, and she had come back moist-eyed and sniffling. And she expected Nick to not worry, to not ask questions! She assumed he would not want to comfort her! It was amazing, how stubborn Judy could be. She was clearly upset, which was actually an improvement, Nick eventually decided. She had been so apathetic for the past few weeks, and now she was feeling something. Even if it was sadness, it was _something_.

She let him hold her. She let him cradle her little head in his paws, let him wipe away her tears. And they just looked at each other. Green on violet. He did not say anything, but he hoped she could see what he was feeling by the look in his eyes. He was talented at keeping his face a blank slate, but he wanted her to know. She deserved to know how he felt about her, even if he was too much a coward to tell her in words. Even if it was not the time to confess how much he cared for her. Nick did not exactly feel happy, but it was a marked improvement on how he had felt for the past few weeks. It was progress. Judy gave him a watery smile, ducked her head, embarrassed by the way Nick was looking at her.

"You know, Carrots, friends are supposed to let friends comfort them," he said, letting the familiar nickname roll off his tongue. It had started as a cruel barb to hurt her feelings. To get under the blue armor she had dressed herself in, but now it was affectionate. A pet name, almost. "Help them."

"I don't need help," Judy had said.

"Sure you don't."

She was beautiful and she let him come closer, leaning their foreheads together. They were in the middle of the office, their cubicle only giving them the slightest bit of privacy. Mammals didn't smile upon a pairing like them, most animals would spit on something like that. Neither of them cared, not in that intimate moment. And what an interesting place to have such an intimate encounter, in their office chairs, in the station that smelled like stale coffee and sweat. Nick wouldn't have had it in any other way. The thought that Judy had made some significant decision was replaced with the sensation of her being so close, so perfect, herself. They got no work done, they just sat there, and Nick resisted the urge to reach behind her and stroke the soft fur behind her ears, kept himself from tipping her head up just the slightest bit so he could capture her mouth in his.

He was good at suppressing feelings like that.

He genuinely thought she was getting better. She had had a breakthrough, or something like that, and she was becoming herself again. She agreed to eat meals together, even when they were going to restaurants she didn't even like eating at. Judy was spending time with Nick again, and all was well with the world. He didn't think it was strange that recovery had seemed to come so quickly. He was so happy with the turn of events that, in a fashion that was most unlike him, he had absolutely no suspicions. She would spend nights at his apartment, eating his potato chips and drinking the cheap box wine he had always offered her, but she had never taken.

They never went to her apartment.

She agreed to listen to his music in the car, without a single complaint. New wave music played a lot that week in their car, and Judy even smiled as Nick sang about wearing his sunglasses at night, or that one song by The Foxx about how one thing could lead to another with a passion she had never really seen before. It was a good week. They drank nice coffee and tea with fancy names instead of drinking the dishwater-like brew offered at the station. Judy was suddenly willing to wait in line a little longer for better coffee. She let Nick scold her gently for always wanting to get to the station early, making them miss out on nice things like coffee that actually woke you up. She replied that she did not need anything to wake her up, but she did regret ever missing out on a warm berry tea she had become fond of. She drank it all greedily, complaining to Nick later when she did not have any left. He loved her.

He loved her for the little things, like when she drank her tea too fast, craving it so much that she was willing to burn her tongue. He even liked the way she whined about it later in the day. It was these little things that made her seem like a mammal Nick Wilde could reasonably have in his life. Someone who was willing to be his friend. She was a large figure, despite her small stature. She had been so enthusiastic and passionate before, it had been hard to see her as an animal behind that thick wall of morality and cutesy sayings.

His feelings for her did not come purely from the fact that she was just a good mammal, or that she looked very nice in the dark blue of her uniform. She was small, and easy to hold. Her purple eyes widened impossibly when she was excited, her nose twitched when she tried to keep herself from laughing at Nick's jokes. Her ears looked so touchable. All of her did. She was embarrassed over the way her smile looked, the way she tapped her paws or a pencil against her desk without even noticing. She sang loudly and very badly, and sometimes danced slightly in her seat when she really liked a song, bobbing her head more than anything. She liked sweets and complained loudly whenever Nick suggested going to a restaurant where they served anything spicier than say, white bread. He loved it all. He cared for every part of her.

They got trashed on a Wednesday night, drinking the fruity colorful things on the menu because they got you more inebriated for less money. He was happy. They played darts (badly), sang karaoke (badly), and participated in the bar's trivia night, producing disastrous results. Judy stuck close by him once she had had two drinks, and Nick enjoyed all the casual touches she bestowed upon him, the smiles that came onto her face much easier. He almost asked her to go home with him. Almost.

He had genuinely thought she was getting better. It was a Friday night, and she had come to his apartment for no particular reason. She was almost a decade younger than him, and one would think that they would have difficulty entertaining each other. But this was certainly not true. That they sat around the ottoman that served Nick as a footrest and a coffee table on the floor. Judy's legs were tucked underneath her, Nick was sprawled out. They were playing War with a deck of cards Judy had brought along with her, letting her music library play on shuffle. She had some truly terrible stuff on there, but she looked cute when she sang the words under her breath, so Nick put up with it. It had been a regular night, except for the way Judy had said goodbye.

She hugged him. He had hugged her before, of course, many separate occasions after the first time underneath the bridge. But none of their hugs had been quite like this. Maybe he initiated it, maybe she did, but it suddenly went past the point of friendly. It had lasted that little bit longer, that slightest bit tighter. There was something there, he was sure of it. His whole world was just him and this bunny on the street, lit by the orangey glow of the streetlight overhead.

"Good night, Nick," she said quietly, into his shoulder. They embraced for a second longer, and then it was over. She pulled herself off of him, looking between him and her feet, shyly, almost guiltily. Nick felt cold without her pressed against his front, but he did not show it. He just smiled at the bunny.

"Good night, Carrots."

Things had changed. Of course, he could be reading far too much into a hug. But Judy had been acting so much better, so much happier. She was becoming herself again. She was laughing at Nick's jokes again, eating well and interacting with mammals again. She seemed to enjoy going into work again, smiling when he climbed into the car, starting the drive to what was quickly becoming their favorite coffeeshop, not minding that the long line could possibly make them a few minutes late for work. She was welcoming Nick's advances. He made a decision.

He was going to tell her how he felt. The thought that it might ruin their friendship did not even cross his mind. They had been close, they were close again, what was the few more inches between them, if not just a space to be closed? He did not often misread Judy, he was sure she felt the same way. He would tell her soon, the next morning, just so he would not go back on his decision due to a long stretch of time.

Tomorrow was a Saturday, and they were not expected to arrive at the station until noon. Judy was not expecting him to wake up before 11:30. But he had things to do tomorrow. He would wake up early, setting a series of alarms from 8 o'clock into 9 to ensure that he would be up in time to invite Judy out to breakfast. He would surprise her, and she would be pleased. They would go to their coffeeshop, sit down in a cozy corner booth. Once he was sure Judy was nice and comfortable, sipping on that sickeningly sweet berry tea, he would do it. He would tell her that he cared about her. Really, _really_ cared about her.

She would smile, ducking her head shyly, probably asking Nick "why", and then he would explain to her. He would tell her all the things he loved about her, why he wanted to spend his life with her, only her. He would say that he had never felt this way for another animal before, and might never feel the same way again. He would tell her that he hoped she felt the same way, that she would make him the happiest fox in the world if she said yes.

Yet if she said no, that would be okay. It would be fine. He was perfectly happy just being friends, as long as he could be by her side. But he was sure she wouldn't say no. She would just drink from her tea silently, taking it all in. And then, she would look up at Nick, nodding slowly, smiling, and she would say, "okay". And they would see what happened from there. Nick had to bury his head in his pillow in an attempt to stop the smile that refused to leave his face. He fell asleep that way.

He woke up around half past 8 o'clock, tired and groggy. Though he knew he should put some effort into looking nice, he had no way of doing so. He had no way to style his fur, no nice clothing. It was either a tropical print shirt, his uniform, or a tour shirt for some band that Judy would make fun of him for wearing. He went for the uniform, pulling on a button-up blue shirt that was cleaner than all the other ones, pinning his badge onto his breast, putting his wallet in his pocket. He left his apartment with enough time to make it to Judy's apartment just before nine. He knew she had probably been up for two hours or more already, occupying herself with whatever was in her apartment. Nick was sometimes astounded that the bunny could have such a cluttered apartment, when every other part of her was so neat. Maybe it came from living in a big burrow with so many siblings for so long. Or maybe he was just a bad influence.

He knocked loudly on her door, leaning forward to listen to her pattering footprints, some that would be louder than others when she had to hop over a big mess on the floor. She had a bad habit of washing clothes and not hanging them up. But the footsteps never came. There was only silence on the other side of the door. He knocked again, louder. Nothing. He called her name. Nothing. He called her phone, and the call got cut short, the only explanation being her clicking her little lock button on the side of her phone twice, firmly, deliberately.

He had been worried when she did not answer his knocking on the door, worried that maybe something bad had happened to her, but now he was somewhat irrationally peeved that she had gone somewhere and not told him, ruining his surprise. He left a message, telling her to call him back as soon as possible. Then he texted her, telling her the same thing, knowing that she very rarely checked her voicemail.

He stood at her door, at a loss at what to do. He had had a very clear plan in his head, and now that it had no cohesion, he was not sure what to do next. He knocked again, said her name, even though he was positive she wasn't in her apartment. He called Judy again. When she didn't pick up a second time, he walked the few feet over to where her neighbors' door was, going to ask them if they knew what had become of Judy. Just as he was going to knock on that door, however, it swung open to reveal an angry looking antelope in nothing but his boxers.

"Could you not be so loud, maybe?" He asked Nick. The antelope had just assumed that Nick was the one knocking around and calling names, which was a little rude. But also true. The antelope was very loud himself. "We're trying to sleep in." He jerked his head back towards where Nick assumed his bed was.

"I was wondering if you could answer a few of my questions," Nick told the horned mammal, who seemed to just notice that Nick was wearing a police uniform.

"Don't you have to have a warrant for that?" Nick wondered if he had just been having a bad morning, or if this was the usual. Did this guy always sound so angry?

"It's not for an investigation," Nick quickly assured him, since he had looked like he was about to slam the door on it. It wasn't for an official investigation, but Nick still needed to get the information. "You live next to her, I wanted to ask you if you had any idea where Judy is."

"Judy?"

"Judy Hopps. Little bunny, overly friendly, lives right next to you."

The antelope shook his head, saying, "No idea."

Nick sighed, rubbing his paw across his face. "You've lived next to her for over two years, pal. Are you just making this difficult on purpose?"

The antelope opened his mouth to respond, but he was interrupted by a voice coming from inside the apartment.

"She moved!"

"She moved?" Asked Nick.

The antelope at the door nodded, apparently suddenly able to remember Judy. He really had been just trying to make things difficult for Nick. Now he acted as if none of that had happened. How had Judy dealt with such rude neighbors? "Oh, yeah, made it official just this morning. Handed her key in, and everything. We helped her carry trash down to the curb, she was clearing everything out. She gave us a cactus."

"It's a cute cactus," came the voice from inside the apartment.

"Well, where did she go?"

"How am I supposed to know? Far away from you, probably." And then the antelope did shut the door in his face.

Nick stood in the hallway, feeling very confused. He called Judy again, and when the call was dropped again, he walked quickly out out of the apartment building, taking the rickety stairs back down to the street at record speeds. He resolved that he would not call Judy anymore, not until he figured out more information. But then he quickly broke that resolve, dialing her when he was on the train, when he was getting off of it, twice when he was taking the few blocks of walking it took to get from the metro station to his destination. He doubted that any of Judy's other neighbors would be help (not that the ones he had spoken to already were particularly helpful), and so he was going to the place where he could find someone with actual information. The ZPD.

He bypassed Clawhauser totally, though he still said hello to the cheetah. He needed to talk to one animal, and one animal only. Chief Bogo. The buffalo was a control freak, even more so than Judy could be. He knew most of what was going on around the station, and the general Downtown area as well. He would know where Judy had gone, and why she had gone. If not, then Nick was at square one. But he was a cop, he was trained to investigate. He would figure out what had happened to Judy. He was worried. He knew this worrying was slightly irrational, and it was most likely that she was on a run, and not able to answer her phone. Yeah, that was it. Or someone had taken her phone, and kept ignoring the calls they were getting from this contact with a smirking picture of a fox attached to them.

Or, and Nick didn't even want to think of this one, Judy had not gotten better, as he thought. It had only been a week since she showed her improvement, and though the thought of it had never entered his head as he was with the old, new and improved Judy, he was now aware that she could have been faking it the whole time. She could have just been acting happy, but still feeling just as lonely, listless, depressed. Maybe something bad had happened to her. Maybe she had done something bad to _herself_. Nick quickly pushed these thoughts away, reassured by the fact that someone was ignoring his calls, and that it most likely was his Carrots. Her being annoyed, ignoring him, that was better than something terrible happening to her.

He pushed open Chief Bogo's door without knocking. The buffalo was looking at the morning paper, peering through his glasses at the small print. He did not acknowledge Nick, he just kept reading. Nick was not there for Bogo's passive-aggressive interrogation methods, however, and he did not suffer through the silence like he expected him to. He got right down to business.

"Where is Judy?" He asked. Demanded. The buffalo just sighed, turning the page. "Chief, do you know where she is?"

"I only know things when my employees _knock_."

"Would you like me to redo my entrance, sir?"

"There is no point, Wilde, because you wouldn't if I asked. And further, there is no point because I don't know where Officer Hopps is. She does not have to be here until noon, after all. And for that matter, neither do you."

"She won't pick up her phone, she isn't at her apartment, something isn't right."

"And how does this affect me? Don't you have friends who can hear about your relationship problems, rather than myself?"

"They're not— sir, there's something wrong. Judy wouldn't just disappear like that. Something bad could have happened to her, she could have… she could have hurt herself."

"Well, I can't do anything about it."

Nick was a little disgusted by his boss' lack of concern. "You're Chief of Police, you can put someone on this."

"I can't."

"I'll file a missing mammal report, and then—"

"You won't, because Hopps is not missing. I can tell you that much."

"You just told me you didn't know anything!" The Chief glared at Nick until he tacked a "sir" onto the end of his statement.

The Chief sighed, pulling off his glasses, folding them, and placing them on the table. "I know a few things, but I made a promise. You won't hear anything from me."

"Sir, I'm her best friend. What do you know?"

"Well, your best friend didn't want you to know anything. That's life. Please, get out of my office."

"I'll look for her."

"On your own time, Wilde. Don't let it interfere with your work."

He didn't. While Judy had always had a problem with leaving her police work at the station, Nick had been excellent at it. His ability to compartmentalize his feelings was highly developed. It was a useful skill when he was growing up, allowing him to become hardened against widespread prejudice and the everyday cruelty a fox faced. It was a useful skill as a cop. But he consciously let down the walls he had created between his work life and his home life. He let police work into his apartment, brought in his investigation into Judy's disappearance.

At first, he looked into the physicality of things. Phone records, the payments on her credit card. But Judy had been smart about it, or at least, she had gone about it the old fashioned way. Her apartment was paid for with cash (which said a great deal about the Grand Pangolin Arms), and the only animals she contacted on her phone were Nick, a few of their coworkers, and her parents. Though he knew there was no way the search would come to fruition, he peeked through hours and hours of security camera footage, looking for a glimpse of black-tipped grey ears, or the old Depelk Mode sweatshirt of his that she refused to give back. Nothing. Nick looked and looked, but he got nowhere.

The more he looked, the more ticked off he became. He had just been worried, at first, but he was becoming annoyed, angry. She had left, and she had told Chief Bogo where she was going. She hadn't told Nick. He understood that she had been in the midst of a hard time, but she had taken all of his agency out of the situation. He understood he had been struggling with everything that had occurred with Starkey during the past few months, struggling with dark thoughts and long stretches of listlessness, but he didn't understand why she just _left_. He didn't want to mope around because of it, so he just got angrier. She had walked out on him after acting like everything was fine, acting like she was happy and getting healthier.

He couldn't understand it. He loved her, cared deeply for her, and thought she felt the same way. You just don't walk out on someone you love. If you loved them, you would stay. If you loved them, you would explain why you were leaving.

The more Nick thought about giving up the search, the angrier he got. If Judy didn't want him to follow her, then why should he care? But he couldn't stop thinking about her. How lonely she must have felt, how damaged she believed herself to be that she saw no other option but leaving. Nick felt guilty, he knew she had been feeling miserable for _months_ , and he hadn't done anything. He wasn't sure how he felt, but he was sure that he did not want Judy to feel delicate, damaged. He wanted Judy to see herself as strong and able as he saw her. He wanted her to feel loved. He wanted her to know that he cared about her, despite what she had done to hurt him. Most of all, he wanted to find her, no matter how bothered he was about her actions.

When looking over Judy's records proved inconclusive, Nick decided to interview his coworkers. Maybe they would know something. But he was soon disappointed by this as well. Whenever he asked any of them about Judy Hopps, there was always one of two reactions.

An officer would talk about how she was a good cop, how she made the force look good, that they appreciated that. They mentioned her ability to get a hunch and single-mindedly pursue it until it became an actual lead; they found her dedication admirable.

The other reaction focused on the Judy of the past couple of months. Sad, quiet, idle. She had let the case get too close to her, never a good situation for an officer. Some called her weak, others called her too emotional, which was just their way of nicely saying that she was weak. And everyone always wanted to know why Nick was so curious, she was his good friend, of course. But it turned out she wasn't cut out for police work, simple as that. They told him to let it go.

Bogo was impenetrable. Nick knew the buffalo knew something, but his lips were sealed, and he could get absolutely nothing from him. He wondered what Judy had said to the Chief to make him keep so mum. Something convincing, or maybe something vaguely threatening. It could be hard to tell with Judy. Bogo was his key witness, but he refused to cooperate, and it seemed like he never would.

He kept calling.

She didn't pick up.

He persisted with his search for about two weeks. Fruitless search takes its toll, and by the end of his investigation, Nick was disappointed. He was angry. He felt useless. He was irritable and he took it out on his coworkers. Mammals steered clear of him, and he didn't care. He wanted to be alone. He cared a great deal about Judy Hopps, and his inability to find her just stole his drive to be. He gave up. That was what he got, he supposed, for bringing his work into his home life. The same thing had hurt Judy, and she had left. There was an annoying sense of parallelism to it all.

He was truly done once he stopped calling. More and more time had passed in between calls until one day, he just didn't call. He didn't text. He was done. If Judy didn't want to be found, she didn't want to be found. If she wanted to leave him, she could. He was done fighting for her. His mind saw the rationality in all of this, but his heart did not. Nick was having a bad week-month-year, and the days after he gave up on Judy were his worst. He did not depend utterly on the bunny for his happiness, but she played a huge role in it. Even when she was barely there, feeling miserable and distant due to her guilt, she was still by his side. She had not been in his life overly long, but he couldn't imagine a life without her. And when he was living a life without her, he realized it was a life he did not want to live.

He trudged into work almost a month after Judy had left. He had been excited about police work, once. He had wanted to make the world a better place, his best friend had convinced him. But what was the point of making the world a better place if she wasn't there to enjoy it with him? A tiny thought was in the back of his head, steadily growing. Judy had not stuck around, so she couldn't have really believed in the words she had said. She couldn't have really believed in Nick, thought he could be a good mammal and join the ranks of the ZPD out of his own kindness. He was beginning to feel like it was all for nothing. Maybe he would quit his job like she did, go back to his old way of life. Nothing wrong with being a popsicle hustler.

He was disturbed out of his thought by Clawhauser shouting his name. He looked up, and the cheetah looked very annoyed, and kept waving him over with one broad paw. Nick did his best to look sly, casually disinterested. He had been having some bad thoughts, but not everyone needed to know. Benjamin was a good guy, and he did not want to snap at the cheetah just because he didn't have the sense to stay away from a Nick Wilde who didn't even look particularly angry.

"I said your name six times," said Clawhauser, crossing his arms.

"Guess I was distracted. What do you need?"

"Well, it's important. But could I tell you later, maybe? I'd rather keep it quiet, you know, away from Bogo."

"Can't you just tell me now, Clawhauser? Bogo isn't down here."

"No, but he might hear you."

"Hear me?"

"Yeah, you'll have a pretty big reaction. Wanna get lunch?"

Nick smiled slightly, crossing his arms. "Is this just a way for you to not eat alone, pal? You could have just asked."

"No, no, I actually have something to tell you. Can you drive?"

A few hours later, an untouched bagel in front of him, Nick watched Clawhauser eat quickly. It was a kind gesture, not rude. He had not told Nick the big news, whatever it was, but it was clearly coming. The cheetah was hungry, but he was going fast enough so that he would be able to tell Nick pretty soon. He had said nothing in the car, nothing in line. But Nick was patient.

"So, what did you want to tell me, big guy?" Nick asked.

Clawhauser looked around himself shiftily, making sure no one was listening. He leaned in close to Nick, and whispered, "I know where Judy is."

Nick reared back, and said, much louder than he meant to, " _What_?!"

"That's why I didn't want to do this at the station," hissed Clawhauser. "Keep it down!"

"How do you know? Why didn't you say _earlier_?"

"Promise you won't tell? Sometimes I listen in on Bogo's conversations, or his calls. It's not moral, perse, but it's interesting, something to share around the lunch table."

"Like now? Please keep going."

"Yeah, just like now. Anyway, about a month ago, Judy asks to be able to go and see the Chief, and she's looking real bad. I mean, ever since Starkey, she's been looking bad. Tired, sick, frail, whatever. She hadn't been taking good care of herself. I'm worried about her, so once she's with Bogo, I listen to their conversation through his phone's speaker."

The cheetah cringed, like he was waiting for Nick to scold him for infringing on his boss' privacy. Nick did not care about Bogo, he wanted to hear about Judy, and he wanted to hear about her now.

" _And_?"

"And she tells Bogo that she wants to resign. And that she doesn't want you to know that she's leaving."

"Why?" Nick frowned, leaning forward onto the table, putting his face in his paws. He didn't understand. "Why would she do that?"

"She didn't say exactly, but she didn't want you to get hurt. I know that. Bogo thought she should have told you, but she refused. She made him promise, as her friend, that she would not tell you. She thought it would hurt less, if she left with no ceremony. Or something like that."

"That's— why would she think that? Why would she do that?"

"Animals do some crazy things, when they're in love." He laughed.

Nick rolled his eyes. The cheetah across from him sipped noisily from his soda. "Don't patronize me, please." To his credit, he did not grimace when he spoke next. "I wish you wouldn't even suggest something like that, it's gross. And don't quote Purrcules at me, Clawhauser."

"You'll have to put up with the movie quotes, friend, if you want me to tell you where she went."

"Yeah, that's why I'm here! Where did she go?"

Clawhauser told him.

Nick bought a train ticket.


	7. Chapter 7

Judy was suddenly aware of two things: her phone was ringing, and someone had just thrown a pillow at her face. She pulled herself up with effort, looking around the relative darkness of her shared room.

"Who did that?" she asked groggily, reaching for her her phone, which was on the floor, resting in her overturned hat. It was a miracle that the thing had battery left, since she had stopped charging it a while ago. There was no point to it. The only mammals she ever needed to talk to were right there on the farm, so she didn't really need a mobile device. It still had a little bit of juice left, however, enough to ring obnoxiously and, apparently, wake up her siblings. She tried to tune out several voices complaining, and rubbed at her eye with the back of her paw. Without thinking, she picked her phone up and answered the call. "Hello?"

"Carrots? Judy?"

She sat up straighter. There was only one person who called her Carrots, only one animal who could make her heart beat as fast as it was. Her jaw dropped involuntarily, and she gaped into the dark of her shared room. Mind foggy with sleep, she had completely forgotten the vows she had made to herself. She wasn't going to answer the phone. She wasn't going to answer him. Just coming out of sleep, however, confused, she forgot it all. She had planned on never seeing him again, never speaking to him again. It would hurt immensely. She would learn to cope, eventually. That was the plan.

But now, she was hearing his voice. It had only been a little over a month. It felt like it had been several years. Judy had forgotten how much she loved his voice, the way it always seemed like it was on the edge of a joke. The way he sounded as if he always knew more than the mammals around him. There was a pain in her chest, a lump in her throat at the sound of it. He was breathing heavily, his voice shaking. He sounded worried, scared, hopeful all at once.

"Judy, oh, thank god. Don't hang up, please."

"Nick, I—"

"If you're going to do that, go somewhere else!" It was one of her older brothers, Davie. Judy suspected he was the one who had thrown his pillow. He loved his sleep, claimed all growing bunnies needed it. The fact that he was almost twenty-eight did not stop him from using this excuse to sleep in every other day. Judy scrambled out of bed, tripping over her hat, Charlie's radio, one of Joey's stuffed animals, and her own feet. Nick was talking, but she was too busy trying to get out of her room and into the hallway without falling on her face to hear. Once she was in the cool dark of the hallway, she let herself sink onto the ground. She closed her eyes, listening to the breathing on the other end of the line. In spite of herself, in spite of her promises that she had made, she felt herself smiling.

"Nick."

"Judy, can you come pick me up? I'm scared."

"It's, it's three in the morning. I'm not in Zootopia, I'm in—"

"Bunnyburrow, I know. It's dark, I'm standing in the middle of a beet field, it's storming, I need help."

"What? Nick, are you here? You're in Bunnyburrow?"

"Am I in—? Yes, I'm in Bunnyburrow! God, did you think I wouldn't follow you?"

"Yes."

He didn't say anything over the phone, but Judy could feel his indignation, the way he flung out his paws in frustration. "Carrots, how could you think that? And why… Judy, I—"

"Where are you? A beet field? I mean, there's plenty of those around here, are there any other defining landmarks? I'll come and get you."

"Okay, there's a barn. I'm almost sure there are beets and… some other plants?"

"That's real specific."

"Well, sorry I didn't grow up in a family where plant husbandry was kind of a big d—"

Her phone died.

She cursed loudly, and then cursed quieter, once she realized there were mammals sleeping in the rooms all around her. Phone in paw, lump still refusing to leave her throat, Judy stomped back into her room. Her siblings were asleep again, despite her phone ringing and loud expletives, and as she listened to their snores, she wondered how they could be sleeping at a time like then. Something momentous was happening. It was huge. And she was not yet sure if she wanted to face it yet.

She got ready anyway.

She pulled on a pair of shorts, made sure that her tank top was not overly threadbare. She threw her phone on the bed. It was dead, and if it wasn't, she wouldn't need it anyway. The only animal she wanted to talk to was one she would be seeing in face to face. She practically ran out of the room, careful not to trip this time, up and through the long tunnel that led to the house proper. She grabbed a flashlight from the pantry. She usually used her phone's light, if she needed one, but she was out of luck in that respect. The month of June was just beginning to start, so she wasn't uncomfortable when she went outside in just a tank top and pajama shorts.

It was too early in the morning for the cicadas to start droning. It wasn't dark, the moon was relatively full, and it wasn't storming, like Nick had said. There was just heat lightning, the sky briefly flashing in the distance. There was no thunder, no rain. But with the changing temper of summer weather, there was no telling if a storm would be approaching soon. She would hurry, though. Nick would be okay. She wondered why he sounded so worried, he had never been scared of storms in all the time she had known him. It was a strange thing to call about, if she thought about it. And he was lucky that she had even had her phone charged, had it laying near her so that she would make the mistake of picking it up, still not fully awake and not fully functioning.

She was glad she had made her mistake, however. She was nervous, excited, scared. She had walked out on Nick, left him to wondering if she was through with him, dead, or worse. It was not a kind thing to do, and she was fully expecting retribution. She was looking forward to their meeting, however. Even if he was angry with her, which he surely would be, she hoped he would allow her to hug him, just once, before he started raising his voice and getting upset with her. She wanted to hold him, touch him, know he was real. Nick was part of Zootopia, part of the world she had attempted to leave behind, but she still wanted him.

Judy considered which of her close neighbors grew beets amongst all their crops. She hoped Nick was at one of her near neighbors' farms, and not further out. They weren't really a cash crop, so not many bunnies grew them, but there were still a few beet fields throughout Bunnyburrow. She really hoped he was close; she was in her pajamas at three in the morning, wandering around and shouting a fox's name, weak flashlight in paw. She would be a sight to see, and the object of endless teasing and talk for the next few weeks, if not months. It would be more than a nine day story.

If Nick wasn't close, he could be clear on the other side of town. She grimaced. The Cotton family dealt largely with beets and they lived over an hour and a half's walk away, near the train station. The Hoovers, who made a heinous beet jam every year for the fall Harvest Days Festival, were even further away, closer to the Deerbuck County line than they were to Bunnyburrow. She hoped the fox had not gotten as lost as that.

She eventually found Nick. He was not far away, but he was not close either. He had been completely right: he was standing in the middle of a beet field. The Pfeffer's farm was about three miles away from the Hoppses, a little over thirty minutes of walking, if one took it at a swift trot. Judy had been calling his name, sweeping the weak beam of her flashlight across the fields that lined the dirt roads that characterized Bunnyburrow, when she finally spotted him. A bit of heat lightning flashed in the sky, temporarily lighting up the dark fields around her, and she thought she saw a bit of red fur in the dark. It could have been the dark shape of a small-ish mammal standing up, and she called out his name to see if her fleeting look had been correct in its assumptions. He turned around at the sound of her voice, and her flashlight caught a glint of white teeth. His mouth was open in a way that was not quite a smile. Maybe surprise, maybe a grimace. He was too far away to tell. But he had seen her.

They just looked at each other across the dark field for a moment, taking in the fact that they were both there, they were together. A rumble of thunder, and then they began to move. She started forward, careful not to step on any of the growing beets that the Pfeffers had probably been working very hard on the whole growing season. Nick was less considerate, uncaring of where he stepped as he walked quickly towards Judy, almost breaking into a run before restraining himself. Judy thought the situation should be serious, somber, a time when she could be very relaxed and explain her decisions to Nick calmly. The rest of her body disagreed. Her mouth refused to stop smiling, her heart sped up at the sight of her fox. It had only been a little over a month since she had seen him last, but it all felt like a reunion that had been years in the making. She knew a storm was coming. It would come, but she would weather it, and once it had passed, she would have Nick in her life again.

Nick got to her first, and she opened up to him, drawing him into a hug. The bag he was holding dropped onto the dirt that was steadily getting wetter under the spitting sky. He was shaking in her arms, bent over with his muzzle between her shoulders and neck. He didn't say anything. Judy kept him close. She wondered vaguely if he should be the one holding her, considering the conditions she left Zootopia in. But she felt the tight coils of his muscles as she wrapped her arms around him, felt the way he trembled and moved himself so that he was closer to her, flush against her body. She had expected anger, fury even, an explosion right in her face that would be entirely her fault. From Nick, Judy would never expect such an open and raw expression of his emotions. Never from Nick. He just let himself be held.

"I should have told you," she said eventually. She regretted it as soon as the words left her mouth. Once she spoke, he finally pulled himself free of Judy.

"Yeah, you should have."

Judy felt herself deflate. Nick had allowed himself one moment to appreciate having Judy with him again, but was now going to let Judy know just what he thought about her leaving without saying a word. He would give her his piece on why Judy really had been a dumb bunny, thinking that it would hurt Nick less if she walked out on him. The tense state of his muscles was not from stress or grief, it was him preparing himself to raise his voice and ignore the way Judy's eyes would doubtlessly well up. His shaking was not worry, or relief. It seemed like he had been shaking with anger. Or disappointment.

"I can explain."

"I don't think you can."

"Nick, please—"

The fox didn't want to hear her explanations. He shook is head, and took a step backwards. "You know, I really think you believe you can. But you _can't_. I know you were in a dark place, Judy, and you still are. But you just… left. You _left_ , Judy."

"I'm sorry, Nick," she said, miserably.

"Sorry doesn't cut it. You left, and I didn't get a warning. You didn't talk it over with me. I just wake up and you're gone. How do you think that made me feel?"

"I just couldn't see a better way."

Nick had his feet spread out wide, paws up, fingers pointing. He was picking a fight. She had been dreading this confrontation, it had been the one damper on her mood as she had gotten ready quickly to go find the fox. But it seemed like she had not dreaded it enough. Maybe it was because Nick was so close to her, and knew just the way to get to her. Maybe it was that she was still in recovery, on her way to feeling alright again. Just because she was on her way didn't mean she was there, however, so that could be why it hurt so much, cut so deep.

Judy figured the most likely explanation was that she had let her guard down. She could be hurt deeply because she had allowed mammals to get to her that way. Amongst all the crops, endless fields, infinite sky, she had forgotten that the world was not always kind. The world was not all smiling bunnies, or happy families. It was not quiet nights in a pantry, sunny days among the was anger, hurt, betrayal. Life was not an herb garden, easy to control and manage in the way she thought best. It was a struggle, and she seemed to have forgotten that in just the span of a month. Nick pressed forward, aware that Judy was hurting.

He was hurting too.

"Let me get this straight," he said. Judy felt small. "You're hurting, grieving, blaming yourself, et cetera. I understand that. We went through some tough times, you especially. But you didn't ask for help, you wouldn't accept it. If you're not trying to get better, how could you expect for it to happen by itself? There were better ways."

"I didn't see them," Judy replied quietly.

"There are counselors at the station. Doctors you could have found if you had just reached out. I was there, but you just pushed me away."

"When did anyone offer me help?" Judy had had her eyes fixed on her feet, but she looked straight at Nick as she spoke. Her voice was shaking, but she did not stop speaking. "When did _you_ offer me help, Nick? I feel like you just watched me fall apart. You watched me get to where I am, and you didn't intervene. You didn't stop and ask me how I was coping, you didn't stop and ask what you could do to help. You watched and you joked and you just, just treated it like some kind of game!"

"I didn't know what to do, Judy! I didn't know how to stop it, but we could have done it together."

"Could we? All I saw was a fox that was tired of having to drag me around, giving up on his efforts to make me smile. I saw a Nick Wilde who wanted me to get better, but didn't want to put in the effort for me to get there."

"Well." Nick shuffled his feet. He had started the fight, but it seemed that he didn't want to finish if. "I guess we both gave up. But I never treated it like it was a game. I didn't understand what was going on with you, and you made no effort to explain."

"You think I wanted to explain myself? Nick, I am… I _was_ blaming myself for this bunny's murder, for the horror that mole inflicted upon the department, the city. It's my fault, and you think I want to tell my best friend that? That death, the suffering, it's on me. I'm not going to tell the one animal I care about the most that _I_ caused death, _I_ caused panic, _I_ caused suffering."

"None of that was your fault."

"It was! To me, it is. And I guess I'm sorry that I wasn't willing to tell you that I was hating myself over a bunch of photographs. I couldn't make myself talk about it, so I left. I'm sorry, I know that's why you're here, that's why you wanted to see me again."

Nick had been looking uncomfortable as Judy spoke, torn between shouting at her and wrapping her up in his arms. But he had chosen which side to take as Judy steered the conversation more towards him being able to raise his voice. "I didn't come for an apology. I wanted to make sure you were okay. I wanted to see you again because I _care_ about you! And you care about me, and you only tell _Bogo_ that you're leaving! I sit and I'm miserable for over a month because, what, because you couldn't talk about your feelings?"

"Did Bogo tell you where to find me?"

"That doesn't matter, Judy!"

"I'd like to know. I want to know why you came to what you consider a carrot-choked podunk just so you can yell at me. I made my decisions, Nick, and maybe they hurt you, maybe they hurt me, but they were the right decisions because I'm happy here, I was healing, and you…"

"Me? What did I do?"

There was a rumbling in the distance. The storm the heat lightning was coming from drew closer, and the thunder could be heard. The weather was always temperamental in summer, and Judy expected it. But it was unfortunate situation, to be so far out from the house with a storm approaching. She did not say a word of it to Nick, however. They would have to make the walk back to the farmhouse together, arguing. He would be in her living space again, and while she would have before welcomed that, now she was not so sure. That would mean inviting him closer, letting him have too great of an ability to hurt her. If he was just going to be angry and disappointed with her, there was no comfort in having him around. His words cut deeply, because they were all essentially true. She hadn't had a good reason for leaving without telling him, besides the fact that she had been a coward.

"You come here, and you just shout. You come here and you remind me of everything I wanted to forget."

"So you don't want me around anymore, is that it?"

"No, I do, Nick. Please, it's just… I need you to support me. I don't regret my decision, but I'm sorry. I know you're upset, and that I hurt you in ways that I probably can't even understand, but I'm struggling, Nick. I need you to forgive me."

"You really hurt me, Carrots."

"I know."

"And you just want me to forgive you, without a second thought?"

"That's not what I'm asking."

"Then what are you— _GOD_!"

The rumbling of thunder and a few bolts of lightning had quickly developed into a crisscross of electricity across the sky, loud thunderclaps that seemed like they could shake the ground. They had been too involved in their argument to even notice. Summer storms were bad, but they only raged for a little while. It would pass. But Nick didn't know that, and he looked frightened. Worried, maybe, that he would have to go along with Judy to her house. Worried that he was the tallest thing in a flat beet field, with a little bunny next to him. The bottom had not yet dropped out, but Judy knew that heavy rain and hail were coming.

"Are you afraid of storms?" Judy asked Nick, almost forgetting her hurt at his words. She was feeling dismal, in pain from the feelings he had dragged up. But he was still her friend, and she didn't want him to be frightened. She wanted him safe.

"No! That's just, it's silly. I'm a grown fox. It's just so much _louder_ out here!"

"Uh-huh."

"How far away is your house?"

"It's close enough."

"Can we _go_?"

"If you want. Let's get moving before it gets worse." Daringly, Judy grabbed his paw. She did not know if this was allowed, yet. She was not sure if either of them were ready for this, ready for forgiveness. But she liked the weight of his paw, the softness of it. The way he started when she took it. She wanted to make sure he kept up, that's what she told herself. This was the quickest way to lead him. This time, Judy did not care if she trampled over beet plants. She wanted to get home before she got soaked, and it was quicker to cut through fields than to follow the dirt roads. It was also muddier, but she didn't mind, and Nick would have to deal with it.

Nick went through the same physical training as her, so they made good time. They were able to reach her house in a little over twenty minutes. They had not beaten the rain, however. The two were both dripping on the wood and carpeting of the house once they arrived. Judy would suffer the retribution in about two hours, when everyone else was awake. She would get through it. Nick didn't say anything as they walked in through the door on silent feet, but he looked at each room they went in up and down. Probably to keep track of all his exits, Judy thought dismally. He was silent, which was a worrying contrast to the rage he had been showcasing on the Pfeffers' farm. It was still early in the morning, a little bit before five o'clock.

"Where do you want to sleep?" Asked Judy quietly. "There's the couch, or…" she trailed off. She had almost suggested doubling up on her bed, but she thought better of it. Nick would not be comfortable with that, and she didn't want to think of her siblings' reactions as they woke up and found a fox in their room. "I'll fix up the couch."

She tapped with quiet feet throughout the house, raiding various linen closets to find blankets for Nick to sleep under. He stayed silent as she went about it, offering to help only by holding out a paw, or taking a sheet out of her own paws. This quiet anger, the disappointment of it, was much worse than the yelling. She felt about two inches tall under the weight of it.

"I can sleep up here, too, if you want. If you don't want to be alone."

"I thought you were perfectly fine with leaving me alone."

"Nick," she sighed. "Don't."

"I can't do it." He didn't specify what 'it' was. Maybe even he didn't know. He put his face in his paws, he wouldn't even look at her. Judy's throat ached, there was a lump in it, as if she was about to start sobbing. She didn't. She just looked at him, and wished things hadn't turned out like this.

Her life in Zootopia had started out sweet, and it had been going somewhere. She was moving up through the department with Nick Wilde at her side. They were unstoppable, together. She cared deeply for him, for her job, and felt like there was a bright future ahead. She could see her coming home to him every night, sleeping in his arms. It wasn't exactly accepted to have thoughts like hers, to feel such an affection for someone outside of her species. But Judy and Nick were strong, and she thought he felt the same way.

Then it all came crashing down. She wondered if they could rebuild it. She wondered if he even wanted to.

"Good night," she said.

Nick just climbed into the mass of blankets she had gathered for him, turning his back towards her. His ears poked out of the top of the sheets, but that was all she could see of him. He didn't say a word.


	8. Chapter 8

There was a sour taste in her mouth when she woke up for the second time that morning. Judy had never expected to fall asleep after finding Nick. Her mind had been running too fast, her heart had been aching too much for her to find rest. Her body had felt otherwise, which was a small mercy. It had given her less time to dwell. Even with two or three hours of sleep, she was tired, her eyes were gummy around the rim and stung slightly; she must have cried before she dropped off to sleep. Judy had tried to wash the mud out of her fur before she went to bed, but some still clung to her feet, and the fur on the back of her neck remained damp. Her day had begun brightly, despite the fact that she had woken up around three in the morning. It swiftly took a more unfortunate route, and it looked as if the trend would continue. She felt the beginnings of a headache in the front of her skull.

Her father shouting her name did not help. More than a dozen pair of eyes peered at her through the dark of the room, judging her for Stu's angry tone— a very rare occurrence in the Hopps household— or else wondering what she had done to get such a treatment. Judy groaned softly, and dragged herself out of bed. She considered making a rude gesture at all her siblings who were doing a bad job of pretending to not watch her, but decided against it. She was a full-grown rabbit, but she did not want to suffer the consequences that Bonnie would surely rain upon her if she did something like that. It would be no good to add on more punishment onto what was already coming.

She was a full-grown rabbit. But she was an adult living under her parents' roof, and that meant following their rules. And she was sure that somewhere within these unwritten rules was something like, 'Thou shalt not bring foxes into our house at three in the morning'. At any rate, she had most certainly broken their law of no lying. She had told her mother that she would never see the fox in that photo again.

Bonnie, who always woke up first out of anyone in the house, had probably walked yawning out of her room, looking for a cup of coffee to wake her up, or something to nibble on as she waited for the rest of the family to wake up. She had been totally relaxed, mind still foggy from sleep, in the tatty bathrobe she had had at least since Judy was around eight years old. Maybe she had even been singing a song under her breath, or running over her list of things to do for the day. She would have been stopped in her tracks at the sight of a skinny, muddy fox on her couch. Bonnie would not have been scared, she would not scream, but her mind would certainly clear up quickly. It would only take a few moments for her head to put two and two together, and think of which one of her many children would have brought a predator into her house. Which one of her children had ties with a fox, whose voice had shaken and broke as she told her that she would never see him again. It would only take a moment for Bonnie to realize she had been lied to, and that one of her children would be getting a very rude wake-up call.

She padded quietly up the tunnels into the house proper, retracing her steps from a few hours before. She wished desperately that she had put forth more effort to wash the mud out from her fur. Dread was pooling in her gut. The most her parents would do is raise their voices, or give her that guilt-inducing disappointed expression. They would probably make her do something about Nick. Whether that meant asking him to leave or not was up in the air. She hoped they would not come to that decision, for it would have to be her telling him to leave. She couldn't do something like that, not so soon after their argument. She wasn't even sure if she could _face_ him after their argument. Luckily, her parents were putting off that encounter for later. They were standing at the mouth to the burrow, just in front of the closed door that led to the rest of the house. They probably wished to have a conversation about Nick out of his earshot. Too bad for them, Nick had very sharp hearing, and would likely hear everything they said. Judy swallowed down the well of anxiety that was swelling in her throat, and approached her parents. Head down, ears back, listening to the irritated tapping of her mother's foot.

"How was your night?" Bonnie asked. She should not have looked frightening, with her round cheeks and arms, her favorite denim skirt with little carrots stitched onto it. She was frightening. Judy looked down at her paws instead of responding. She had not seen her mother looking this angry since she had thought Judy had picked a fight with Gideon at the Harvest Fair when she was nine. Or when her mother had found that photo of her and Nick.

"We're not angry," Stu assured her quickly. "We're just wondering why—"

"There's a fox sleeping on the couch! Judy, what were you thinking?"

"Mom, dad— Nick is my friend. He needed somewhere to sleep."

"But why here? Why isn't he in Zootopia?"

"He came back for me."

That was the truth. Even if he was in the other room, seething at Judy's thoughts, actions, everything, he had come back for her. He was fighting for her, when he could have just given up on her and left her in Bunnyburrow. Despite how he felt at the present moment, overwhelmingly, with the whole of himself, he thought Judy was worth it. She was smiling. Her parents were angry with her, Nick was probably rearing to pick a fight with her again. The heavy weight of blame was well-settled upon her shoulders, but things were looking better. Once everything worked out, Judy could see herself being happy. The promise of joy around the corner almost softened her parents' cruel words, as well as the almost palpable feeling of Nick's upset beyond the door.

Stu frowned. "Jude, your mom and I aren't… Bon, how would you say it?"

"We aren't exactly comfortable having your friend in our house."

"Why is that?" Judy asked, acidly. She knew the response already.

"Well, hon, he's a fox."

"What does that have anything to do with it?"

"You know what they're like." Both her parents had the grace to act uncomfortable as they spoke the words. They had been raised to think this way about predators, maybe foxes in particular, but that didn't excuse what they were saying. They worked with Gideon Grey. Her parents lived alongside predators peacefully, they had been doing the same since they were children. Still, they found it within themselves to generalize, and to say hurtful things. It made no sense. But some mammals' minds worked differently, and some couldn't get over age old differences. It was ridiculous. Judy could feel herself getting angry.

"You let Gideon come into our house all the time. What's the difference?"

Stu picked at an invisible loose string on his shirt. Bonnie's eyes flicked to her feet, but came to settle on Judy's.

"Nick is a stranger," she finally said.

"Not to me! Can't you trust my judgement?"

"Well—"

"And if the fact that he's a stranger is the problem, why didn't you say that first? Instead of saying such ignorant things?" Her parents said nothing in their defense. Maybe they saw the truth in Judy's words. Maybe they didn't want to pick a fight, so early in the morning, so close to the mammal they were arguing over. Maybe they thought Judy was a fool, an idealist, and her words were pointless. It didn't matter, not then.

"Judy—"

Her sense of self-preservation must have flown out the window, or burrowed far, far into the ground, somewhere she could never find it. She was aware that she was being a little blind in her defense of Nick. He had been a con mammal in the past, of course, and there was the fact that he was overwhelmingly angry with her at the time. Despite all that, he was still her friend. She would defend him, she would keep him from the brunt of the prejudice that would linger over his stay in Bunnyburrow. "Do you want me to tell him to leave, or something? Because if that's what you want, you can tell him that yourself. I'm going."

"This conversation isn't over, Judith."

"If you're just going to insult my friend, then it is. I don't want to hear it. I'll talk with you once we can all be reasonable."

She pushed between the two of them, opening the door that led to the farmhouse proper and walking through. She shut it firmly behind her. She hoped her parents would see her sense, and have a rational discussion with her about Nick. She hoped she hadn't just guaranteed the tanning of her hide. Judy had two things she was absolutely sure of: this would pass, and her siblings had most certainly heard every word of that conversation. Judy would be the talk of breakfast, and likely the entire rest of the week. It was the price she would pay to have Nick stay, to keep him reasonably happy and with her. Judy had been dwelling on the surety that Nick would never fight for her, that he would just accept her absence and move on. Now that he was with her, even if for only a few short hours, she wondered why she had ever thought she would be okay with not having him in her life. She had been foolish, that much was clear.

Judy walked into their large den and came upon a very dismal looking fox. He had a mug of something warm in his paws, something Bonnie had presented him with not as an act of kindness, but likely because she just needed to do something with her nerves and her anger. Judy wondered if Nick could taste the maternal rage in the brew, in the heat of it. His ears drooped in a way that was certainly not like himself, and he was wearing the same clothes from yesterday, a black shirt that had probably had a design on it at some point fifteen years ago, and jeans that had become crusted with mud along the cuffs. His feet were on the coffee table, something Judy would have found incredibly rude if it was not Nick, and if she hadn't caught him doing something so sweet. He was looking at a framed photograph, a duplicate of the one that had been sitting on Judy's desk in the Grand Pangolin Arms. It was of her, her parents, a few of her older siblings, and their children. It was a crowded picture, and it seemed like Nick only had eyes for her in it. He put it down as soon as he saw her out the corner of his eye.

Judy was sure he had heard her approaching. He had wanted her to see him looking at the picture, but she was not sure why. To show that he was not fully angry with her, to show that he understood why Judy had made her decision, why she had needed to return. But understanding did not erase the hurt, the confusion, the anger. Judy knew this. She stood a respectful distance away and cleared her throat softly.

"Want breakfast?" she asked. She kept her tone level, painted it with a false brightness.

"Sure."

"Come on, then." She gestured for Nick to follow her into the kitchen. It was empty. Usually her dad would be bustling around, enlisting children to help him with the hefty task of feeding such a large family. Judy supposed he was too overwhelmed with the events of the morning to do that. Her siblings would just have to nibble on whatever was sitting in the pantry. Both Judy and Nick were well aware that the fox had heard everything Judy had said with her parents. They didn't say anything about it. She was glad, she didn't want Nick's thanks, or anything like that. She wanted him to understand, and it seemed like he was getting there. That was enough. She was just wearing her pajamas, and didn't care much if they got dirty while she was cooking, so she ignored one of the aprons hanging up on a hook by their largest pantry. She went over to the sink and went about washing her hands. "I'll make it. Got anything in mind?"

"Can you make anything else besides toast?"

"Hey! I've gotten decent at cooking. Name something, I'll see what I can do."

"Pancakes?"

"That is within my repertoire. I might need some help, though. If we aren't quick enough, I might end up having to make food for the entire house."

"How many siblings?"

"Two hundred seventy five."

He looked stunned."Yeah, let's make this quick."

Judy quickly gathered all the ingredients and tools required for the food, while Nick stood by, waiting to get orders. He looked a little uncomfortable in the spacious kitchen, it was a little too domestic for his tastes. Judy hoped he would get used to it. To her whole way of life, that is, not just the kitchen. She told him to turn on the stove and grease the pan, while she mixed up all the ingredients in a large glass bowl. She stirred a bit savagely, trying to break up all the clumps of flour in the mixture. Her first attempt at pancakes had had chunks of the stuff within the batter, making them very hard to stomach. She was learning. If there was one thing Judy Hopps was exceedingly good at it, it was completely devoting herself to a mindless task. Weeding, helping her father and siblings boil jars for pickling. Mixing up ingredients and checking the heat of the stove, if only to keep away the threat of thinking, of conversation. She was capable of having another row with Nick, that was certain, but she would avoid it if she could. And she liked their dance around the counter as they went about their separate tasks, until they finally came together for the final product.

After a few minutes, there was a stack of pancakes in from of them. A little burnt in some spots,a little uncooked in others, since they were both inexperienced. But still good.

"Want anything on 'em? We've got lots of preserves, jams and that sort of thing. Honey, sugar, whatever."

"Blueberries?" Nick asked hopefully.

"Sure thing. Fresh ones or in jam?"

"Fresh, please."

There was a bowl of them sitting in the fridge, and Judy walked over to get them. "Wanna eat outside? It's always nice after a storm." It was also further away from her eavesdropping sisters and brothers. She was going to speak with Nick, and he would only want to talk about one thing, and she was sure Starkey's case would come up. She didn't want her siblings to hear that. She did not want them to pity her, or judge her. Maybe she could convince Nick to wander through the muddy rows with her, to get ever further from prying ears.

Nick agreed, and they went and sat on the big porch that wrapped around the front of the farm house. Nick held the plate with the pancakes on it with two paws, Judy carried two extra plates, silverware to eat the breakfast with, and the blueberries. They didn't talk much, the two just kept eating. Judy supposed neither of them wanted to raise their voices at each other, though it would probably come to that regardless of what they wished. They spoke once they had finished the pancakes, and Judy had gathered the dishes up to carry them back into the kitchen for a wash.

"You should probably stay out here while I…" she trailed off. "I'm sorry about my parents."

Nick shrugged. "I'm used to it." He reached out like he was about to rest his paw on Judy's arm, but soon drew back. She wished he would have completed the motion, and then scolded herself for thinking that. Could they really do something like that in Bunnyburrow? In her parents' house? Did she want the consequences that it would bring? She did, she was willing to endure them, but was Nick? She wasn't exactly sure of that, and she saw nothing in his eyes as he remained sitting down. "Thanks for… thank you," he said.

Judy nodded. She knew what he meant.

She walked back into the house, actively avoiding eye contact with those of her family who were up and moving around. She kept her ears down, keeping her eyes on her feet, her thoughts on the sink in the kitchen. If any of her brothers or sisters caught her eye, they would know she was thinking of Nick. She didn't want that. She got into the kitchen no problem, and was lost in the bustle of everything going on in there. She set the dishes in the sink, then jumped about three feet in the air when a paw clapped down on her shoulder. It was a good thing she had already put down the plates, or else they would have been in pieces on the floor. Judy whirled around, wanting to find the source of the touch.

It was Addie. She looked worried.

"Are you alright?" she asked.

"Fine," Judy told her. Addie opened her mouth, but before she could say anything, Judy lashed out. Addie deserved none of it, but Judy couldn't exactly snap at her parents. She didn't want to hurt her sister, just as she didn't want to hurt Nick. But she just couldn't hold it all in anymore. "If you're about to insult my friend, I don't want to hear it! And if mom sent you to spy on me, you can just give up now. It's morning, the day hasn't even started yet, and this family is already at his throat! And mine, for having the _nerve_ to invite him in here. What's the deal, Addie? Can you tell me?"

"I just wanted to tell you that our parents don't speak for all of us," Addie said quietly. Her voice seemed even softer, since almost all noise in the kitchen cut out once Judy snapped. She felt terrible. For raising her voice, for letting mere words get to her, for making Addie look so crestfallen. "And that I'll support you, Judy."

"Addie, I'm sorry."

"But I might just change my mind." Addie shook her head decisively. She raised her voice and looked Judy straight in the eye. "This isn't you, Judith. Taking your anger and frustration on your family, not thinking through your decisions. If that fox makes you behave like this, maybe it's best if he keeps to the city and you stick with us."

Judy would have defended herself. She would have said that none of it was Nick's fault, even if it was, a little bit. It was her parents' words, her lack of sleep, the damage the Starkey case had inflicted upon her emotionally. She would have apologized more thoroughly, offered to help Addie out in the kitchen. She would have left Nick out on the porch a little longer, just to make it up to her kindest sister. Before she could do any of that, however, Addie had already turned tail. She was probably going to her little alcove in the pantry, to read some poems and forget about cruel sisters and farm work for the day. Bonnie would give her a pass, and Judy would get scolded even further.

"That was harsh, Judy," said her older brother Davie, who was sitting by the sink, skinning potatoes. Several other siblings nodded their assent, some voiced it. Judy just put down her head and passed them by. She didn't want to lash out again, and she didn't want them to see the anger in her eyes. She walked past dozens of siblings and her parents in the den, not making eye contact. She felt as if they were returning favor, as if they were disgusted with her actions and her relations with a fox. Though it was much more likely that they were just caught up in their own morning routines. This did not quite occur to Judy. She just walked outside, onto the porch.

"Let's take a walk," she said.

Judy was still in her pajamas: old tank top and gym shorts. Nick was still wearing his mud stained duds from the night before, but he came along willingly enough. He didn't ask why Judy wanted to lead him through muddy rows dotted with green. He didn't ask why they needed such privacy, didn't even say a word.

He didn't take Judy's offered paw.

She took him all the way to the edge of their property, to an empty red barn. When it wasn't possible to just run into town and buy a loaf of bread for a little over a dollar, the Hopps family of years past used to grow grain to make their own loaves. The empty building Judy took Nick to was the once a threshing floor. What had once been a wide, clear floor was now cluttered with heavy machinery and the accumulated belongings of several generations of Hoppses who were too sentimental to throw their things away. It was a bit of a mess, but the loft above the threshing floor was relatively clean, and that's where Judy directed Nick. Through a maze of machinery, across a sea of bags of clothing and old furniture that should have been donated to a charity two decades ago, up a ladder, and onto an unforgiving wood floor that was slightly cushioned by an inch or so of old hay.

"This seems like a lot of effort for just a 'walk'," said Nick. "Secluded, away from prying ears… What are you planning on doing to me, Carrots?"

Judy would have smiled at the use of the nickname, but she frowned at Nick. He knew why they were there. Why would he put it off? "We're here so we can talk without my family listening in."

"What would they hear that they didn't already know?"

"Well, the thing is, they don't know."

"What do you mean?"

"I haven't told them anything about Zootopia."

"Anything? As in, they don't even know why you're here?"

Judy scratched the back of her head. "Uh, yes. That's accurate."

"Nothing about the case?" He didn't have to specify which one he was talking about.

"No, Nick. I said nothing."

"Why wouldn't you?"

"Because it hurts, and I didn't want to deal with it. The pity, the judging. This is the place where I can be free of it."

"So, what, you were just going to keep it all bottled up? Forever?"

"That was the plan. But you're here now, and—"

"And now I've got to be your shrink because you're too scared to talk to your family?"

"That's not what I was going to say!"

"You're going to have to tell them eventually. You can't keep it all inside for the rest of your life."

"The king of laughing it off is telling me not to bottle it all up? That's rich."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

Nick was always very skilled at not revealing his true feelings, that's what Judy meant. He was constantly prepared to brush off things that bothered him with a well placed smirk, smiling slow and sly at hurt feelings and blunt words. He was not like Judy, who had to fight for that sort of thing. It came naturally, the little white lies that hid how he truly felt. Judy often struggled to read him, to define exactly what her best friend was thinking and feeling. And he was always feeling a lot, regardless of how he wished to keep anyone from thinking that. Judy didn't say any of her thoughts. She just watched Nick, digging her fingers into the old and musty straw underneath her. She did not want to argue, she did not want to insult him and drive him away. He was her best friend, and he had come back for her. She took a deep breath.

"Nick, I couldn't even tell you what was going on with me. What I felt, how it feels now… How can I tell the rest of my family?"

"Trust, I guess? You blame yourself, you feel shame and guilt, but that's just you. No one is angry that you wanted time to heal, that you needed it. You need to know that I— I mean, your family, loves you."

Unbidden, tears started rising in Judy's eyes. She was tired of crying. During the case, she had hardly ever been able to cry, even when she wanted to. Since coming to Bunnyburrow, tears seemed to come constantly. With Nick, they came even more often. It was tiring.

"I know that. I do, I'm just scared they'll be angry with me. They'll be frustrated, like you are."

"Even if I'm angry, it doesn't mean…" He trailed off, put his head in his paws. "I don't know if I can do this, Judy."

"Do what?"

"I don't know. Talk about it. Everything."

She blinked slowly. "Nick, that's why you're here."

"I don't know why I'm here."

Judy just looked at him. She couldn't understand. She thought Nick had come to get some sort of explanation, to get an apology and reasons for why she had just left him. She had brought him to the old threshing floor to give him what he wanted, but if he didn't know what that was anymore, what was she supposed to do? She didn't know what to tell him, she didn't know how to make things right anymore. She just said what made the most sense, in that moment.

"Okay. But… do you want to stay?" She asked.

"What?"

"Until you're ready, do you want to stay here?"

"In Bunnyburrow?"

"Here. With me."

Nick had been hesitant. He had been distant. He wanted to avoid getting hurt, or maybe he was just plain angry. However he felt, in the short time he'd been on the farm, he had been keeping himself away from Judy. It had really felt like that he didn't really want to be with her, that he hadn't really wanted to come back for her. Like maybe he had been obligated to do so. Nick had turned away from her, had refused to speak about how he felt and why he had come for her. Judy felt it in the way he refused to open up and be forthright with what he was feeling. She felt it in the aborted touches and the way he avoided meeting her eyes. But he did not hesitate when he answered her offer with a slightly smiling, "Yes."

It was harder to convince her parents. They had not been happy with Nick in their house as soon as they woke up, and they weren't happy about it just a few hours later. They both kept civil tongues, however, and did not bring up Nick's being a fox as their issue with him staying with them. Judy was sure they were still thinking it, but at least they didn't say it to her face. During the day, it was hard to get both of her parents in the same spot at the same time. Bonnie was always going in between tasks, making up for everything Stu missed while he remained in one spot for a long while. Bonnie did spot checks, Stu needed everything to be perfect. Judy managed to catch them both around the red cabbage patch, and quickly herded them together. There was, unfortunately, no way to keep her conversation away from her siblings this time around. Those that didn't hear would figure out the content soon enough, once there was a fox living and working among them.

Her parents hadn't exactly agreed yet. But Judy was well practiced with working at what she wanted and achieving it, despite the odds set against her. She had become a little complacent, and having a clear, attainable goal in front of her for the first time in a month was just what she needed.

Judy found their arguments pretty weak. It seemed Bonnie's main reason to keep Nick out of her house was, apparently, Nick's feelings for Judy. And her feelings for him. Her mother could not read her mind, so she could not see the half-truth in her words. All she had to go on was that photograph Lee had dug out of Judy's wallet, but it seemed like that was evidence enough in her eyes. Judy could admire her dedication to her hunch, as it was something she surely had inherited from her. But she did not like the hint of judging in her mother's eyes, the slight pity. She didn't want any of that.

Stu nodded along to what Bonnie was saying, occasionally adding his own opinions on Nick. He was sloppy, he spoke snidely, he was just a city mammal that wanted to take advantage of Judy and the kindness of her family. Judy was quick to shoot these statements down. Her response to other opinions was less useful, less articulated.

"And he has no respect," her dad had said. "Putting his muddy paws on our coffee table, not asking our permission before pursuing you."

"He isn't pursuing me!" Judy protested. She had nothing to say about Nick's lack of respect. He was a nice mammal, for the most part, but he did have a problem with authority figures. This included Judy's parents.

"We just don't think his intentions are good," Bonnie concluded. "He's so much older than you, and all those long looks. We don't want him in the house. He seems… sly, almost. Like he's hiding something."

"Because he's a fox?"

"No," said Stu, rubbing his head. "Just— Jude, we don't want to be cold to your friend."

"You just want to turn him out on his tail?"

"Well, when you put it like that…"

"It sounds rude? Because it is! He won't be here forever, he just wants to stay with me while I try to get better. That's what we were talking about when we went to—"

"Jude, is there something wrong? What would you need to get better from?"

"The threshing floor!"

Bonnie looked concerned, rather than defensive. She reached out a paw to cup Judy's cheek. "Dear, is there something wrong?"

There was, but Judy wasn't going to tell them what it was. That was a promise to herself she was not planning on breaking. She put out her paws to stop her parents from continuing to speak, trying her best to cling to the thought in her head. It just might work.

"Sh, sh, you two! The threshing floor, please— Mom, Dad— could Nick stay in the old grain loft?"

"What?" asked Stu.

"Why?" asked Bonnie.

"He'll still be around, but he won't be in the house. It's warm enough for him to stay there, I'd just have to drag a mattress and a blanket or two up there. It's perfect!"

"Judy—"

"I'll go tell him right now!"

Judy bounded away from her parents, out from the vegetable patch, away from the group of siblings that had gathered to listen to her conversation. Her parents watched her go, shook their heads, and turned back to the cabbage.


	9. Chapter 9

It was something like July, and Judy was in the dirt again. She was not there on purpose. She had fallen, forced down by the hurt and disappointment that had come from a familiar pair of green eyes. She had a lump in her throat, the smell of blueberries in her nose. Things hadn't been going well. But she didn't realize they were that bad. Judy pushed herself off the ground, brushing the grit on her clothing off and trying not to cry as she watched her best friend storm away.

Over the course of about three weeks, Nick had managed to find himself a place on the Hopps family farm. It was unfamiliar territory, completely different from what his whole life had been. But he tried. His effort was one of the only things that made Judy happy during this time. She found it in herself to smile every time Nick met her out in the fields every morning, even with his fur sticking in odd directions and his breath smelling sour. Even if he complained about having to wake up with the sunrise every morning. She almost felt like singing when he agreed to do the most basic farming and homely tasks, or even better, when he offered to do things without being asked to. He chaperoned Judy's little sisters and brothers as they picked through the rows, without being assigned to the duty. It was a difficult task, keeping all those kits in order and behaving well, but he did it.

He would bring around water for everyone working the fields, bottles under his arms and tucked between his snout and his neck. It was a touching image; once Judy heard about this, she had to take a long walk. He was doing it for her, all for her. But there was the suspicion always in her head that he was just putting forth so much effort into farm work to avoid discussion. He did not want to talk about Judy leaving, he did not want to talk about much of anything. He never looked happy when he and Judy were together. Judy wasn't very happy either, though she knew they both should have been overjoyed to have one another again. When they spoke, if they spoke, it was all small talk, no substance. Nick did not actively ignore her, since they were usually no more than a shout away. But he never reached out.

Judy could understand. Her parents had allowed the fox to stay on their farm, but they still weren't the most hospitable of rabbits. None of the cruelty was outright, but it was there. No one really addressed it, even though it was all surely insulting and belittling for the fox. It was unspoken, but Nick was only allowed inside the house for meals, to use one of the bathrooms, or if it was absolutely necessary. A cut on the paw? The fox could come inside. Wash it out, and come right back outside. There's work to do! A drink of water? We'll just send Davie in for that, it's no problem, no problem.

What Judy could not understand was her parent's reasoning for this, especially as Nick was on the farm longer and longer. He was not a stranger anymore, he had been there almost a month, everyone was spending multiple hours of their day around him, speaking with him. Nick had found some respect for her parents. They got more than a condescending smirk or a roll of the eyes if they spoke to him, at least. Nick was not outwardly rude or cruel to them. They insisted it was not just because of his species, so the only reason left was her parents still having the idea that Nick had indecent intentions toward Judy. It was unclear where they were drawing this from. They had the photograph from Starkey, but that was their only evidence. The only intentions Judy could ever get from Nick was that he seemed to want to clock her in the jaw every time she wanted him to talk about the case, or about her walking out on him.

This did not stop her parents from going to lengths to keep Judy away from Nick. She wondered why they were even letting him stay, sometimes. He was on the farm for Judy, and they kept him away from her in any way possible. They were given tasks completely apart from each other during the day. Stu would tell Judy to work in her herb garden, that there were plenty of paws working on the cash crops. It really seemed like her parents wanted her to enjoy herself and relax while Nick was sent to the far edges of their land to do less enjoyable tasks. He would come in for dinner at the end of the day, sweaty and sticky and smelling faintly of blossoms from pruning apple and plum trees in the orchard. Grime and mascara stains on one of his B-52 shirts after an afternoon being Lee's driving chaperone went awry. The truck had broken down about twenty miles from the nearest gas station, and Nick had managed to figure out what was wrong with the engine, gotten it running again. Most of Judy's siblings knew how to work on an engine, but it turned out Nick had a little more experience. Years of working on Finnick's aging van had taught him much, and her parents took advantage of this. There was one very memorable evening where Nick came into the farmhouse for dinner with oil slicked down his whole front, after working on one of their tractors for most of the afternoon. He and Judy had eaten dinner on paper plates in the kitchen that night, kept away from the nice wooden dining table and chairs. It was rare, that they had eaten together. Her parents usually liked to keep them on opposite ends of the table.

Nick was not exactly suited for farm work. His eyes smarted in the bright sunlight he labored in, and his knees and back weren't used to being hunched over for so much of the day. His clothing was more suited for going to a dive bar in, rather than working in the earth. His paws were rough enough to withstand the hard work, but they still ached after hours of labor. He did not have the patience to care for plants and watch them grow slowly, carefully over the course of several weeks. He did not appreciate the honest smell of dirt baking in the sun, nor did he like the scent of it right after the rain. He was not content to just stand and soak in the land. Whenever Judy insisted on it, he would tap his feet or swish his tail until she got irritated enough to move on. Nick did not understand how Judy could just happily hunker down in the dirt for hours in her garden, could not understand her pride in it all.

"Why?" He would ask, wrist deep in dirt as he helped Judy spread fertilizer over her herb garden. She was glad for her thick gloves as she patted down the unpleasant smelling compost around her plants. Food scraps, dirt, and worms did wonders for growing things, but their scent clung to fur and almost never all the way washed out. Nick's paws were too big for any of the gloves laying around the farmhouse, and the two of them had had to drive into town one morning to purchase some for him. The silent, tense car ride was not exactly fun. Neither was working with Nick. He did not whine too much about the fertilizer, but Judy could feel his disgust like it was a physical thing. The gloves on his paws were stiff and unwieldy. They did not suit him.

"Why do we use compost?"

"Why do you do this?"

Judy blinked. She could have explained, but it would all sound silly. Haunches in dirt, gloves filthy with fruit rinds, she could understand why Nick would ask something like that. It should not have been fun, and it should not have been comforting. But it helped clear her mind, drove her ill feelings away into little boxes she could shove into the back of her mind, if only for a little while. Mutilated bodies had no place among sweet-smelling lavender, or cilantro that stained her green. Stuffy little laundromat owning moles were not in Bunnyburrow, they had no place in this world. Dutifully weeding and patting down refuse into neat little piles helped her compartmentalize, something she had never been able to do before. This base labor that Nick had once considered beneath himself was her path to healing, or at least a stepping stone along the way. But he would just shake his head and laugh if she told him that.

"I just love the smell of rotting cabbage," she told him. He laughed, a rare occurance those days.

Nick complained. He whined, seemed like he was close to a temper tantrum at times. He didn't like dirt clinging to him, didn't like the scent of it persisting through baths and showers. He hated the sweat, and his sunglasses always slipping down his snout, and the plaid. He hated the plaid. But he did just the same work as Judy. He hated it, or seemed like he did, but he still worked at it. He labored hard, accepting dirt in the cracks of his paws and cricks in his back as a result of it. But he would not explain his reasoning for doing it all. He would not explain anything, refused to talk about anything of substance, and Judy was almost constantly and hopelessly frustrated.

Nick was born in the city, it was meant for him, part of him. Bunnyburrow did not suit him. It did not make him happy, or if it did, he didn't show it. He was doing it all for Judy, but it didn't feel like it. Despite the Starkey case driving a wedge between them, Judy had grown used to her closeness with the fox. He had been comfort and safety in a city that sometimes felt like it would swallow a little bunny. He had been happy chatter and fond glances and that odd little snort laugh he made when Judy amused him. He was quiet nights on a couch, not quite daring to reach out and take his paw while watching late night television. He had been home. A lot had happened between them, they had changed, but it was still hard to reconcile their relationship now with the one they had had before Starkey's photographs began flooding the station.

Nick was next to her, but he was not with her. They worked alongside each other, but there was no connection. Their interactions were empty, and both their smiles were always forced when they came. There was a simple solution to it all, but neither was willing to bridge the gap. Neither was willing to move past their hurt, or maybe they just couldn't. Nick's distance should not have torn her apart like it did, but she could feel the little defenses she had built up since coming to Bunnyburrow being knocked down. And if she tried to reach out to fix things, to mend the gap between her and Nick, he always stopped it. He was not ready to reconcile, or he wasn't prepared to speak about his hurt, his feelings of abandonment. Whatever his reasons were, whatever his intentions were, the damage was done.

Judy did not blame him for it: she blamed herself. She thought she had moved past these feelings, somewhat, but they were back with a vengeance. Everything that was happening, everything that had happened, was because of her. It seemed as if all her issues stemmed from her inability to pin Starkey down after his first string of murders. The guilt that had been kept mostly at bay were coming back. The nightmares were returning. It was not uncommon for one of her family members to find her sitting in the den in the mornings, not having gotten any sleep that night. What sleep she had was riddled with images of cut up mammals and her family looking at her with fear and disgust in their eyes. Sometimes the knife was in her paw, sometimes Nick was the one staring up at her in horror.

She did not have that overwhelming apathy consuming her anymore. Misery is a strong word, but that's what she felt. All she had worked towards her entire life had already fallen apart: her career, her life in Zootopia. This was a fact she accepted. It still bit at her, made her feel more than a little bit worthless, but she still accepted it. To be more apt, she was resigned to it. She had made her decision, and she would stick with it. She was giving up her dream, but she had reason to give up that dream. There was no point to sticking with something if it just tore you apart. She had decided that would not remain as an officer if it was just going to hurt her. And the decision had been working out. That was why she was so upset, now that Nick had shown up. Her old-new life in Bunnyburrow was falling apart, that's what made her distressed. It was nothing she could control. Life was not an herb garden. Judy could only witness Nick keeping himself distant, and feel the adverse effects upon herself.

She doubt he noticed it. She hid it well, at least from him. It felt like she didn't see Nick enough for him to even notice that something was wrong. When they spent time together, she acted happy, just like he did. If he saw bags under her eyes, if he noticed her drooping ears, he didn't say anything about it. He didn't point out that her laugh sounded more hysterical than joyful now, and didn't note that her voice shook with the hint of a sob at least once every time they spoke. Likewise, Judy did not mention his constant frown. She did not comment on the fact that he almost always wore his sunglasses, even indoors, even at night, to hide the hurt that was surely sitting fat and heavy in his eyes. Casual touches were not even attempted, and Nick hardly put in the effort to joke around.

The rare times they were able to work alongside each other, there was no companionable silence. It was tense, uncomfortable, and Judy could feel her fur standing on end at the feeling coming off Nick. Anger, hurt, plenty of negativity. She knew he was just as frustrated as she was about the lack of communication. But he did nothing about it. They would be crouching down next to each other, weeding a patch of rhubarb or checking on a sprinkler that wasn't staying on as long as it should have, and Judy would find herself breaking the silence, though she knew better. Though she knew the inevitable turn of the conversation.

"Ready?" She would ask. Nick knew she was not talking about the rhubarb. He would become even more tense and taut next to her, his paws freezing in whatever action they were in the middle of, shoulders hunching up. Fight or flight. She would regret the word as soon as it came out of her mouth. Yet she kept doing it. Kept asking. Nick did not know, or perhaps he did, but she had a lot riding on his response to her question. So much would be explained for her, so much more would make sense. She would have a sense of closure. She would get a chance to talk about her own feelings. Things might just resolve, and maybe they could finally define what exactly it was between them. Judy would not have to hesitatingly refer to him as a friend, or her working partner. She could call him something more. Or maybe she would call him nothing. That would certainly resolve things, if he decided he had had enough and headed back to Zootopia. Judy's old plan could go along as it had been, without the roadblock of the fox.

"Give it a rest, Carrots," Nick would sometimes respond, occasionally playing it off with a laugh. "I'm here, aren't I?" Sometimes he would not be so kind. He would snap at her, telling her that she would hear _plenty_ if she didn't stop pestering him. She would never reply that she would prefer getting yelled at, rather than the limbo they were in. She liked anger over apathy. She wanted things to be figured out, easy for her to understand. She wanted her head to stop being a jumble, and she wanted Nick to stop being some sort of enigma. She wanted to be friends again. She was tired of the pain. Sometimes he would just ignore her, pretending he never even heard her in the first place. She would have to walk away so she wouldn't be persuaded to yell at him or, worse, cry in front of him.

Nick had flaws, just like any mammal. Some were easy to spot: lack of respect, inability to take things seriously. Horrible taste in music. A mean streak. One that was not as noticeable was his tendency to be complacent. Judy had once accused him of not trying. She had been convinced that he was willing to be nothing more than a popsicle hustler. She was sure that the fox would be nothing more than what people expected of him. That he would never go above what was assumed. In some ways, she had been wrong. Nick had not just been a con mammal, he had been willing to go out on a limb to help a down-on-her-luck cop. He had put forth the effort to become an officer, to be something bigger. Judy was glad that her first impression— or perhaps her second impression— had been proven incorrect. She had maybe been a little too early in assuming that. After all that effort on the fox's part, he was still complacent. Not in his portrayal of a sly fox, but in taking the easiest route possible.

Judy found herself adopting that complacency.

And so, neither of them talked about much of anything. It was easier than an argument. Nick didn't want her pity, just like she didn't want his. Maybe that's what he was expecting if he talked about sadness or hurt. Judy may have shown her emotions more than Nick, but he felt them just as surely as she did. The bunny imagined him full to the brim with hurt and confusion. Fit to burst with ill-feeling and frustration toward her. And that was fine! She wished it would all spill over, she wished that Nick would speak with her. All she wanted was for things to make sense. She wanted to understand her best friend. She wanted to know why he stayed in Bunnyburrow. Why would he stay there if he was angry with her, if he hated the work? It seemed like there was no point. Maybe there wasn't. Maybe Nick was just as aimless as her.

She wondered sometimes, if he stayed just because he had nowhere else to go. It seemed like he had left the department just like she had, without any backup plan. If he had a job to go back to, he certainly had not told her so. Considering that bit of ill will between Nick and the Chief, Judy could not see him giving the buffalo forewarning. The fact that he had known where Judy had gone and not told Nick would have only added onto that hint of dislike the fox had for Bogo. Judy had ruined both their careers, it seemed like. If that was the case, it could be that Nick's choices were either the farm or going back to a life of hustling. Judy doubted if Nick would want to go back to that way of life. He had a taste of something better, and he would not return. Judy was part of that taste, and that could be why he had followed her. Why he stayed. Which, once again, made the current discontent her fault. She bore the blame that was made for two sets of shoulders on one.

She longed for those days just after the Bellwether conspiracy was unearthed. When everything was going well, when Nick and her being happy was a real possibility. There had been smiles, laughter, and just a sense of contentment. Their careers were beginning, and they had been successful, and they were only moving up in the world. Defying expectations, breaking barriers. It would have been easy to bridge their gap, then. Then, the gap was that narrow thing between friend and lover. She would have just had to reach out a paw for a caress or a kiss, if she had been brave enough to try. But she hadn't been brave, and that possibility of success and love had fled. She wouldn't dare touch Nick now, even just to tap his shoulder to get his attention. He would flinch away from her touch, half-glare at her when he thought she wasn't looking. She was always looking. She longed for that time when she had not been filled with pain every time she saw a bit of red fur out of the corner of her eye.

Addie didn't even pretend to work on her crochet or her knitting or whatever it was she did with her yarn and needles when Judy sat with her in their little room. She just watched. And eventually, Judy had to stop acting like she was paying any attention to the little book of poetry she was looking at. The weight of her sister's gaze was too hefty. She sighed, closing the book and sitting it on her lap.

"What is it, Addie?" She asked.

"Something's upsetting you."

Judy put a paw behind her head, scratching absently. She avoided her sister's eyes. Of course, there was something upsetting her. And Judy was not the best at hiding her emotions, even if she tried. She knew her older sister had seen through her excuses when she had first arrived in Bunnyburrow, when she had tried to justify her flight from Zootopia. Addie had just shaken her head as Judy said over the dinner table that police work just wasn't her calling. She tutted quietly when Judy told Davie over a pack of cards that she had just missed home. But she smacked Lee's arm whenever she needled Judy about Zootopia. Addie didn't pry, she didn't try to get into business that wasn't hers. That did not mean she wasn't concerned, however. She knew something was wrong with her sister. She was just waiting for Judy to come to her on her own time. But it seemed like Judy was taking too long.

"Nothing's wrong."

"Don't lie, Judy. We both know something's up, and I have a good idea what's causing it."

"I wasn't lying."

She was. But Addie could not possibly know what exactly was causing Judy's emotional state. Judy could not even say what it was herself. There was Nick, but he was just one item in a mixed bag. A lot was going on in her head, and not all of it was bad. There were growing things, and open skies, and her favorite songs playing on her phone. Good, honest sunlight brightening her days, dirt under her paws, the familiar and constant sound of cicadas droning on the trees. Family. There was also guilt, shame, and self-loathing sitting in her gut like a ball of lead. In her throat like a scalding drink she had not taken the time to let cool down. Nightmares and dark thoughts and tears that spilled hot out of her eyes, even if she wasn't feeling particularly sad in that moment. And there was Nick.

He was not outwardly cruel, hadn't been since she had first found him out on the Pfeffers' land. He didn't pick fights. He didn't criticize her, at least, not on anything important. He would tell her openly that he thought gardening was terrible, or that he hated the smell of fertilizer, but he would not insult her. He could say exactly what he thought about the music Judy sang under her breath when they peeled potatoes for dinner, but he refused to say exactly what he thought about Judy leaving him. He would not take a strong stance on much of anything. Nick kept his head down, eyes on whatever his paws were doing. Even if whatever his paws were doing was not very interesting, like shucking peas or changing oil. He seemed to have just accepted that he and Judy would live alongside each other, but not actually live. He accepted living in this limbo of theirs, that space without much love or friendship. Without much of anything. He was complacent.

It would have been hard, once, to imagine spending an evening without Nick. She had pictured for herself a life where she would always have his smell in her nose, the sound of his breathing the only thing her ears cared to pick up. Her things could have easily mixed with his, and their lives would have become something like one. Live, work, love together. She had imagined a good life for herself, but she was unsure if it was possible now. She didn't know if she and Nick could even be real friends again. The idea of being anything more was something out of a fever dream. It seemed like a feat to even have a conversation with him. Most nights, Nick would go off to the old grain loft, and Judy would go back to the house. Alone. It was hard to spend an evening without Nick.

"I asked you to not lie to me, Judy."

"And I told you, I wasn't lying."

"If that fox did anything to hurt you—"

Judy hit her book of poems against her thigh, and hit her sister with her most burning look. "What do you have against him, Addie? Did he look at you funny, or something? Is it because he's a _fox_? You are usually so kind, and I just don't understand what your deal is with Nick."

"My deal, Judy, is that you were a mess when you came back. You were sad, and you were tired, and you just had this _weight_. And it wasn't gone, but it seemed like it was getting a bit better. You were smiling, and you sang, and you looked happy to come out with all of us every morning, at least just a little bit. But your fox shows up, and that all unravels. My deal is that Nick seemed to undo all that good work you were doing for yourself."

"That's not on him." Judy ducked her head. "That's on me."

"I don't pretend to know what exactly made you leave Zootopia, and I don't know if I even want to know. I don't understand what you're going through. But one thing I am sure of is that it cannot all be on your shoulders, whatever it is. Don't you dare blame yourself."

"I'm the only one to blame."

"That can't be true."

"That's the way it feels."

"But that doesn't make it true, Judy!"

"It's true to me!" Judy was glad they were in their underground pantry, where noise didn't really reach through the dirt walls. She shouldn't have been yelling at her sister. Addie was not the one she wanted to yell at, Addie was not the one she was angry with. But she was an easy target. Judy found that she was standing up. "It's my fault! All of it, and none of you get it. None of you understand. And you just treat me like some fragile thing, or something to be pitied. I'm not. I'm an adult, and this is my life! And you're angry for my choices, for the decisions that were for me!"

"Don't take this anger out on me," Addie interrupted, softly. Her words still cut through Judy. "We both know I'm not the one you need to say this to."

"I know." Judy let herself sink back into her chair. "I'm sorry."

Addie should have been just as mad as Judy was. She should have jumped on her sister's bait. Judy wanted someone to yell at her, too. She wanted it to cut deep, she wanted that kind of catharsis that came from a shouting match. And maybe Addie wanted to do the same, but she kept a level head. She stood up from where she was on her stool, and walked over to Judy. She asked softly, "Is this okay?" Judy gave only the slightest nod of the head before Addie wrapped her arms around her sister. She didn't say anything for a long while, just held her. Judy felt like crying, but she kept the tears in. If she was going to have a repeat of this, she needed to be able to control her emotions. She needed to get her words across without tears garbling her statement or dulling her point.

"What happened?" Addie asked.

"I'm not sure if I can."

"I don't want to pressure you, Judy, but I think it will help to talk about it."

"I'm not sure if I _want_ to."

Judy didn't want to. She knew she didn't. She told Addie anyway. She had told herself that she wasn't going to let her family know anything of what had happened. She had sworn that Bunnyburrow would be kept separate from Zootopia. But Nick had shown up, and that had all been ruined. What was one more mammal on the farm knowing what had happened? What was the point anymore? At any rate, Addie was sweet and kind, and she would try to understand. She would not judge Judy completely, she would not view her as an entirely different bunny.

Judy's story did not start in any concrete place. She had lots of starts and stops. Sometimes she would get overwhelmed by what she was explaining, balling her paws and sticking them to her eyes when she described all those photographs, or digging her claws into her thighs when she described Starkey's first trial. Cut up bunnies. Deliberately keeping her voice level as she detailed the way she and Nick grew more and more apart as the months went by, and more bloody pictures made their way into her inbox. She told her sister about the paranoia, the guilt, the complete apathy that descended upon her as time went by. The same feelings that came over Nick. The way no one reached out for her, the way no one seemed to offer her any help. The despair that eventually made her realize that Zootopia just wasn't a good place for her to be anymore. When it seemed like her only chance at recovery was going home. How Nick's behavior was breaking down all that progress she had been making.

Her sister let her speak. She did not interrupt. She kept holding on. Judy was grateful for the physical support, was not sure if emotional support was forthcoming. She didn't cry, although that was all she really felt like doing. The tears welled up, but they never spilled over. She delivered her tale with relative calm, with less distress than she had ever expected of herself. It took much longer than she thought it would have.

"It's not your fault," Addie said, once she was sure Judy was done. "You couldn't have known all that was going to happen."

"Ignorance doesn't mean innocence, Addie."

Her sister sighed. She obviously didn't want to argue. "I can't make you believe it, but that's the truth. It's not your fault."

"Thanks, Addie." Her sister released her hold, though she kept a paw on Judy's shoulder. She was very tired. "I'm sorry."

"Sorry for what?"

Judy shrugged, a little hopelessly. "I'm not sure. Everything. Making you hear all that."

"We all knew about the case, Judy, we just didn't know the exact details. I'm happy that you trust me with this."

"Well, someone had to hear it."

"What about Nick?"

"What about him, Addie?"

"I don't mean to pry, but… it seems like there has been a lack of communication with you two. I just want you to be happy, Judy. And if that means you're with a fox, that's okay. I've told you that before."

"I know."

"It's not your fault, Judy. You deserve a bit of happiness. Talk to him."

Judy huffed out a breath. Maybe of resignation, maybe of amusement, disbelief at what Addie was telling her. She wasn't sure herself. She raised her own paw to the one Addie had on her shoulder.

"I'll tell him."

Some things are easier said than done. Judy managed to put off her resolution for three days. She found herself grasping at little straws to keep her away from encounters with Nick. Or at least, lengthy, private encounters. It was fine at dinner, or when they were trying to keep her little sisters from holding spitting contests out by the fruit stand. There was no time for personal conversation then, just space allowed for the passing dishes of peas or dodging well-aimed and far-reaching globs of saliva. But she wanted to avoid those times when her parents' attention was lax, when they actually treated her like an adult and let her stray beyond their line of vision. When she would have to follow through her word and confront Nick again, and demand an answer besides "no".

She offered to sit in the passenger seat while her sister earned her license. She shelled a somewhat unnecessary amount of peas, peeled more potatoes than she could count, and rinsed the dirt off of bushel after bushel of carrots. She volunteered for laundry duty, breathed in steam for a whole day as she washed an ungodly amount of sheets. Judy knocked down a wasp nest from one of their plum trees when it scared her siblings off, and she only cried a little bit when one of the insects stung her on the shoulder. Then there was always someone needed to walk little siblings into town for their Bunny Scout meetings, someone who needed to iron tablecloths because whichever relative was visiting that day for lunch. And after that, someone needed to wash those dishes after that important lunch. She even stayed away from her herbs, knowing that that was an easy location for Nick to come and find her, if he ever had the urge. Her garden hose had a hole in it, it only made sense for her to ride Davie's bike into town to get a new one, even though the truck was quicker and Nick had mentioned needing to go into a convenience store, or something like that, and getting a new charge cord for his phone earlier.

Judy was being a little bit of a coward. She had been trying to have an adult conversation ever since Nick had arrived, but of course, the key word was trying. It had always been apparent that Nick did not really want to have anything resembling a mature conversation. He wanted to ignore his problems and stick his head in the dirt. When he didn't even remotely like dirt. So Judy's attempts at conversation had fallen flat, and she liked it that way. Judy did not like getting shouted at. She did not exactly look forward to dragging up more foul feelings between her and Nick, the ones between her and herself. But Addie had been right, and Judy needed to resolve something. She couldn't take Nick's brushing off, his newfound ability to ignore any variation of "Nick, we should talk". She deserved something like happiness, or at least something that could quiet the discontent between her and the fox.

She met him out by the blueberry bushes. In June, they were bearing a good amount of fruit, so no one noticed if Nick wandered through the rows for a snack, as long as he didn't make too big of a dent in the fruit intake. They still needed fruit to sell to stores in town, or to supply their stands at the farmer's market or along the roadside, but a pawful here and there wouldn't hurt anyone in the long run. Nick knew this, and did not even attempt to hide the fact that he was chewing on some as he saw Judy. He didn't bother to conceal the fruit he he had sitting in his folded over shirt, a makeshift basket. It wasn't all the way sanitary to just eat it off the bush like that, but Nick didn't seem to mind. He offered Judy one as she approached.

"I'll pass," she said.

He shrugged his thin shoulders. "More for me. What brings you to the blueberry patch? Is the dirt over here a better quality for gargling?"

"Nick, we need to talk."

"About what brings you over to a little ol' place like this? Or using dirt as mouthwash?" Judy did not reply. She tapped her foot, and just looked at Nick. He was usually a perceptive fellow, and Judy was making no efforts to hide what she was feeling, what exactly she needed to talk to Nick about. He quickly got her meaning, or maybe he had already had it on his mind when she walked over. He sighed, rolling his eyes. He would have flung an arm out in dismissal, but he kept it where it was, so as to not risk his collection of blueberries settled in his shirt. "There's nothing to talk about, Judy. We've had this conversation before, and it'll be the same answer every time. Alright?"

"It's not alright! Nick, I want to have this conversation, and you keep blowing it off. We need to talk."

"See, you keep saying that." He smiled. "Talk about what?"

Judy groaned, frustrated. She motioned between herself and Nick wildly. "This! Don't act like there's nothing wrong."

"There isn't anything wrong." That certainly wasn't the case, and there was a quickly sharpening edge to his voice.

"Clearly, there is. Nick, this isn't healthy."

"I wish you would drop it, Carrots."

"I don't want to argue."

"Then why don't you try dropping it?"

"To keep things bottled up, to just let an issue sit their and not acknowledge it… I don't like it."

Nick adopted her tone of voice, doing an okay impression of it. She wondered if he had practiced it before, if he had once used it upon their coworkers. "That's rich, coming from you."

"What do you mean?" She crossed her arms. She anticipated an argument, she did not appreciate the mocking.

"That's all you do, Judy! That's all you do. I'm sick of it. You feel all this _crap_ , and you don't tell anyone about it. You let it eat you up inside. Well, boo-hoo! We're all going through…"  
He snorted. "I'm not allowed to get past things my own way? And who are you to call me out, when I'm doing the same thing as you? Suddenly it's something bad that you need to fix!"

"What's wrong with wanting to mend broken things?"

"Like me?"

"Like us, Nick! I want to fix this."

"Sounds really nice, it does. But maybe you should have thought about that before you decided to drop everything and leave."

"Nick, please."

"I don't want to hear it! It was good, and you let one thing tear it all down."

Judy scoffed. "One thing?" She asked, incredulous.

"A big thing, but you should have expected tough stuff like that going in! Police work isn't all sunshine and daisies, it's serving and protecting. That doesn't always mean happiness."

"Nick, you saw the same things I did."

"And it was all terrible. Horrible, but there are ways to get through it. There were options, and you didn't take any to mind. You left, Judy!"

"Yes, I did. I left, and I know it hurt you."

"Do you? God, Judy, you aren't the only one who's left. Okay? I'm almost used to it by now, but not from you. Never you."

"Nick—"

"I really don't want to talk about this."

"Well I do, Nick. And you aren't the only one who gets to make decisions around here. I want to discuss how it's making us act now, because this isn't _us_. Do you have anything else to say, or do you just want to keep calling me weak and over-emotional?"

"You wanted this, didn't you? I'm telling you what I think. You thought only of yourself, you had no mind for how it would affect me. Did you ever consider me?"

"You are the reason I left the way I did! I wanted to—"

"How could you ever think just walking out would be better than having a rational conversation about it? I realize you were in a dark place Judy, but you're still capable of thought. You're an adult!"

"Yes."

Nick looked irritated at the loss of his arms. He scooped up the blueberries in his shirt, sticking them in the pocket of his jeans. Judy winced, from the turn of their talk and by the fruit in his pocket. That would be a sticky mess, and would most definitely leave an awful stain. Nick didn't mind: he was talking avidly now, using his paws to emphasize and motion his way through his speech. The familiar action stung, he was gesturing angrily at her, instead of a bad driver or her neighbors, when their shouts had reached through her apartment walls.

"We had a good life, good jobs. Careers! Hell, we had a chance, Judy. You and me. I thought, maybe together. And then you just _leave_."

Judy looked at the fox a little strangely. Did he mean what he was saying, and was Judy interpreting him correctly? A chance. But then, a chance didn't matter. Not anymore. It seemed like they were hardly even friends, anymore. Friends didn't shout at each other, and friends didn't call each other weak and dramatic. They didn't ridicule each other's choices, they didn't hide their true feelings behind a thin veneer of sarcasm and jokes about gargling dirt. But Nick wasn't all that. He had also followed her all the way out of Zootopia. He had left his life behind just as suddenly as she had, willingly, just in pursuit of her. He had stayed on the farm, even though he seemed like he was miserable. She had been frustrated, then angry. She was welcoming a fight, once it seemed like Nick was insulting her. Once he started the conversation but didn't steer it anywhere. He just kept accusing. But then, a chance. A chance. Judy was confused.

"I never _asked_ you to follow me," she said.

"Yeah, well… maybe I shouldn't have."

Nick looked like he might have said something else, but he thought better of it. He had landed on a good closing statement, and he was sticking with it. Judy did not know if he left with the statement to cut her the most decisively, or because he actually was planning on following through with it. Either way, it left her speechless. There was just hurt. Nick. turned tail and stormed away. Probably to his little makeshift room in the old grain loft. Judy should have called out for him, she should have taken back all her words and told Nick that she was just fine with living in a limbo. It was hard having him around, but when it really came down to things, she would rather have him next to her than over two hundred miles away in the city. Even if he refused to speak about anything of importance. Even if happiness seemed far off, even if nightmares threatened her sleep every night. Everything was complicated and mixed up, especially her feelings for Nick. But she still cared about him. Despite all they had gone through, he was her best friend, and she wanted him around. She didn't want to be alone. She had thought that maybe they could heal together, be at peace with the dirt and the growing things she had come to value so much.

And now it seemed like he was going to leave.

She sunk to the ground, less of a conscience decision, more because it seemed like the only response to what had happened. She had followed through with her word, and it had all come crashing down on her. Not for the first time. She watched Nick stalk away, and wondered if she could possibly mend this broken thing.


	10. Chapter 10

He shouldn't have just left her standing there. Judy probably thought he didn't want to be there. She would think that he was through with her, and that he was returning to the city for… for what? Nick didn't have much to return to in Zootopia. His job with the department was as good as gone. He had not handed in any resignation like Judy had, he just stopped showing up. It would take him off the work schedule, get his title revoked. If he went back to the city now, it would be for the life he had left in the past. Nick would always be street smart, but he did not want to return to a life of conning. He had worked hard to open up his world, to gain new opportunities, and he wouldn't throw that away to be a liar and a hustler again.

Nick had had dreams again, goals and plans and a proverbial sunrise on his horizon. A bright future, and who would have ever expected that of him? He wouldn't have even seen it for himself. Judy had taught him otherwise, with that just slightly annoying optimism, that refusal to take no for an answer. He had given it all up. There was cruel irony about it all. He gave it up for the one who had encouraged him to dream again in the first place.

All for Judy.

Judy had lost that tenacity that had brought him out of two decades of complacency and cynicism. She was not all smiles in the face of adversity. Now, it seemed like she would let adversity knock her down, let it spit on her while she was in the dirt. There was no fight against the foes stacked up against her. She would not lift her head to shout out a challenge at a world that was determined to see a little bunny pursue her goals. Judy had given up on those goals, had seemed to accept what everyone had been telling her for so long. That bunnies were weak, not suited for the big city, not strong or brave enough to be the sort of mammal that was valuable to the Zootopia Police Department. It was all wrong, but Judy didn't see that. She had let one difficult case beat her down until she was hardly herself anymore. She kept her head down. She had lost that drive that Nick had admired so much, almost from the moment they met.

Or maybe she still had that drive. But it wasn't to follow what she had wanted her whole life. That fire was now dedicated to living an existence that had been dictated to her since birth. Eat, work, live, die on a farm. Labor at the land until your eyes were in a squint and your paws gnarled and tough. Marry another bunny who ate, worked, lived, and would die on a farm and have lots of little kits who would do the same exact thing. Give up your big city dreams and live on the same plot of dirt until you keeled over and died from disappointment, exhaustion, or the choking weight of a family that numbered in the hundreds. Instead of dedicating herself to making the world a better place, Judy was dedicated to making little green things poke out of the ground, to making her family happy with her talk and her presence. She was single-mindedly pursuing what she had spent many a night complaining about to Nick. Her family, who never thought forward. The land, which never changed. The role of being a carrot farmer, traditional and boring and something she would never do, not even if someone paid her! She had worked too hard, come too far to go back to where she had come from almost three years before. Oh, how the tables turn.

Nick would have been fine with her decision. He maybe would have just followed her out to Bunnyburrow for a few days, checked up on her, seen if she was doing alright. She had seemed like she was getting better, for a little bit. That short time before she left. If he had arrived and seen that she was doing fine, he might have left. But she hadn't been doing alright. Maybe Nick was depending too much on his ability to decipher how Judy was feeling, but she hadn't been alright that night she had found him in that beet field. Sure, it had been three in the morning, but Nick had never seen her that _tired_. He had been in enough stakeouts with Judy to know that it took much more than an early morning wakeup call to make her shoulders so stooped, her eyes so tired, and her ears so droopy. There had been something wrong, he knew for sure. He had probably worsened whatever it was, by raising his voice at her and telling her how much she had hurt him. Well, not how much. But just that she had hurt him, and that he was upset about it. One tongue lashing does not equate weeks of the same behavior, though. Her eyes stayed tired, her ears stayed drooping. So Nick stayed. He performed a job he didn't particularly enjoy with a thoroughness that was only present because it was all for Judy. All for Judy.

What had happened to Poppy Glenn had crushed her, even now, months later. Starkey's actions still haunted her, made her irritable and jumpy and unbelievably weary. Nick hadn't been much comfort for his friend when they were in Zootopia, when they were still at their jobs. He would be a comfort now. He would be there for her. He would watch hundreds of little siblings, he would chaperone Lee's driving, however many hours she wanted, even if it killed him. He would change the oil of hundreds of tractors, prune every tree in the Hopps orchard, spread metric tons of fertilizer over the carrot fields if it meant Judy could smile again. He wanted Judy at peace, back to her old self, at least somewhat. He wanted for her to be able to have a good night's sleep. He wanted them to be in a place where he didn't feel like he was having a conversation with a stranger every time he spoke to her. Nick Wilde talking to Judy Hopps about the weather, or how the carrots might be ready to be harvested soon. It was ridiculous. He wanted to be able to talk about real, important things with her, but sometimes it felt like tearing out his own fur by the pawful would be preferable to talking about what she wanted to discuss. Painful subjects, issues he wanted to keep buried deep. It was Judy, but some things should just be left in the past.

Nick guessed he was a little bit of a coward. He kept his emotions buried in a place where they couldn't hurt him. Except, that was all they did. They cut him deep, but he still couldn't face them. He wouldn't. And it just drove the wedge between him and Judy even deeper, made him more frustrated, made her more miserable. He beat off her advances, every time she tried to talk about it. Nick wanted to avoid the pain, but he bred more of it. She needled him into discussing things, but he brushed it all off. He was making Judy hunch even further into herself, making himself seem even more hostile and unwilling to compromise. He could solve it all if he would just force himself to tell her why he was so upset, but it hurt. He didn't want to hurt, but he didn't want Judy to be apart from him, either. She had saved his life, she had become his entire world, and they were hardly even friends anymore. One easy solution, but he couldn't force himself to pursue it. His mind had once been black and white boxes, easy to organize, easy to control. Now he was a confusing tangle. He didn't know what direction to take. The easiest way out was to leave, but he didn't want to leave Judy. He didn't want to live a life without her. But to live with her, he would have to talk about painful things, and he would have to work on a farm, and he would have to live with all the prejudice her family and her neighbors piled up. Through all that pain, though, there would be Judy. He would be with Judy.

So he was in Bunnyburrow. It seemed like he might have ruined at staying, however. He had hurt Judy, he knew. More severely than he had in the past, more severely than she had hurt him. They had been in a limbo between friendship and estrangement, and he had toed the line a little too much. Nick had essentially told her that he wished he hadn't followed her. He had basically stated that he didn't care enough about her to stay, and for all he knew, she was taking those words to heart. Maybe she was crying somewhere, alone, in a place where Nick should have been comforting her. Maybe she had just gone back to doing farm work, squatting low in the dirt in her garden, ignoring her siblings' attempts at conversation. Maybe she was currently telling her parents that Nick would be leaving soon. Nick was sure her parents were kind enough mammals, but he was from the city, and he was very clearly making Judy feel bad. And Nick had the inkling feeling that Bonnie knew his looks at Judy were not altogether friendly in manner. They would be glad to see him go. They wouldn't have to bother with a fox on their property all the time anymore, wouldn't have to be anxious about losing customers with a predator hanging around their trim little roadside stand. Nick would be out the door within hours, dirt caked in his paws and layered within his clothing. They wouldn't have to keep him away from Judy anymore. Tail between his legs as he went back to the place that he should have been missing like home for the past month.

Zootopia had been home. But it felt empty without Judy in it.

The old barn the Hoppses had stuck him in was a little drafty, but otherwise it was an alright place to sleep. It had been his home for a month now, and it seemed like it would be his home for a while longer. At least until Judy's parents drove him off, or when Judy asked him to leave. He should have just spoken to her instead of overreacting. But there was no use getting upset over it, because it was done. He had been sitting up in the little loft for a few hours, at least. Trying not to think. Using his phone. The bunnies did not live in a total stone age, so there were a power outlets in the old grain building turned storage area. All of them were below the loft, however, and Nick did not feel like climbing down just to charge his phone. He had a few hours of messing around on it with his limited data usage and the brightness turned all the way down, but the phone still eventually died. And so he was left alone with his thoughts.

Judy had been excited when she told him he could stay, that day after he had just turned up out of the blue. She had dragged him to this outbuilding, literally dragged, and it felt almost like old times again. Judy had forgotten herself. She babbled on to Nick about it during the half-walk, half-jog to the loft. It was old, a little rickety, but he would by dry under the roof. It was warm enough during the summer to sleep in the old loft. She said she and her siblings would hold sleepovers in the building when they were much younger. They would play hide and seek or tell stories and create worlds in the dark. A big tractor covered with a sheet could be a mountain, or a monster, or a god. Old bags of clothing could turn them into different mammals, strange bunnies from far off places who had done great things. Judy had been the only one to hold onto those childish dreams.

They had thrown many a party in the outbuilding, teenagers on short summer nights once Stu and Bonnie had fallen asleep. Judy never attended said shindigs, she swore. Nick wouldn't have really expected her to do something like getting stoned at a high school party, anyway, or dancing with some faceless bunny in a room crammed with dusty furniture and the accumulated musty smell of three decades of junk. She still had stories from her brothers and sisters to tell, though. They had once left Davie up in the loft after one of those parties without a ladder, and he broke a leg and an arm trying to get down himself the next morning. Lee had tried to sneak in once, when she was all of nine years old, and had cried because June Snoutherland wouldn't dance with her. Addie had taken one drag of a cigarette her third year of high school and puked all over Will Snowden's feet.

Nick had almost shared his stories. He had plenty of bad party stories to tell; he hadn't been the most well behaved of teenagers, or adults, for that matter. But then he thought better of it. Judy might think less of him. Judy might remember that they were fighting, and stop talking like she was happy to be around him. He let her talk, and he laughed at the right parts, and nodded periodically, even though she wasn't really watching him. He missed the way they were. He had his misgivings about sleeping in the building, but Judy had assured him that it wasn't as empty and creepy as it looked. There was a tour: she helped him through the maze of old furniture, let him see where the power outlets were. She showed him the loft, assured him that they would get him cushions and blankets. She offered to help him look for a mattress amongst all the junk that was on the floor underneath them, even.

It hit him, sometimes, how much he liked looking at Judy. He hated to admit it, but she seemed like she was in her element on the farm. She had been in her element on the force, once, but she was completely at ease in her role as a farmer as well. She was comfortable here, and it showed. When she had forgotten to be sad around Nick, she looked like her old self again, minus the plaid and the dirt all over her jeans. Back straight, shoulders set, her head held high. She was smiling as she helped him up the ladder to the loft, stayed good natured even when Nick demanded that she kill the spider that had decided to make its home in the outbuilding as well.

She was beautiful, in a way that Nick had never expected to see a rabbit. Her fur looked so soft in the afternoon light, her eyes big and her lashes long. Even her long ears were appealing. Despite it all, he loved Judy. Everything about her seemed appealing. She had flour from the pancakes they had made that morning on the collar of her shirt, and he longed to reach out and brush it away. He remembered the days when he could have just done that. He remembered the days when he could have moved in just a little bit closer, when it would have been so easy to solidify whatever it was between him and Judy. When he could have bent down and kiss her smiling mouth, and it would have been easy, it would have been expected.

She had looked at him, and had probably seen whatever he was thinking. Nick was good at schooling his expressions. He had always been a deft hand at masking his emotions and letting people see what he wanted them to see. But Judy caught him off guard, and she got the full force of whatever lovestruck expression he had left on his face. She had wilted. The gleam in her eye gone, shoulders back to slouching. Maybe she had been remembering those days past, as well. Regretting her decision to not reach out, just as he was. Judy had just remembered everything he had done to hurt her, everything she had done that hurt him. There was a rift, and she had let it get away from her in her excitement over Nick staying. It was back. It was quite possible that it would never be gone. And then they were both alone, though they were standing right next to each other.

He dug his paw into the pocket of his jeans, checking to see if the blueberries he had stuck in there were still intact. By some miracle, they were only slightly squashed, only a little bit of their juice dribbling through his pocket. He stuck one into his mouth and chewed. Still good, with the exception of a small piece of lint. He wasn't hungry, it was just something to do. It didn't take his mind off of anything, but it was better than just sitting stationary. He kept eating them, his dead phone useless by his leg. He fingered a hole in the edge of his Clopson Twins shirt, and wondered how long it had been since he had spoken with Judy. If it was too soon to find her and apologize. If it would be alright to head into the farmhouse, because he needed a glass of water and a change of scenery to a place that wasn't just him alone with his thoughts.

That was when Lee stepped out from behind a tractor, or a thresher, or some other piece of old farm equipment. Nick wouldn't have noticed her at first, except she called, "Hey, you! I'm coming up." Not knowing where the voice came from, he almost jumped out of his skin. But then he saw a little grey shape moving through the maze of junk. He almost thought it was Judy, but quickly thought better of it. Lee and Judy were similar in coloring, but Lee's eyes were deep brown and on the small side, unlike Judy's almond shaped violets. And Judy had never put that much effort into what she wore. Her sister wore a tank top and shorts, but they were still fancier looking than Judy's nicest outfit: her dress uniform.

Nick wasn't sure how he felt about Lee. He had spent a good bit of time with her in the Hopps' truck, working away at the ridiculous amount of hours of driving with a licensed adult that were necessary for Lee to get her full provisional license. The first time Nick had been pushed into going with her, it was from Lee herself. The young bunny liked to act as if she were disinterested in everything going on around her, as if she were indifferent to everything to do with her family and whatever they did, but the opposite was true. Lee very much liked to get involved with other people's lives. Nick did not see it as a malicious thing, but it certainly was bothersome. The truck's radio was so old that all it played were a few scratchy country stations and talk shows about fertilizer. There was a cassette player, but Lee told Nick to stop when he started looking through the cardboard box at his feet that had all the tapes laying in it. She insisted that she needed to concentrate on the road.

What there was to concentrate on, Nick was not sure. There was corn, there was carrots, there was dirt. That was the whole of Bunnyburrow. What Lee wanted to concentrate on what Nick had to say. She was very interested in his life. Or to be more accurate, she wanted something to gossip about. Something to say about the fox that had just dropped into town when she saw her friends next. What was Zootopia like? Did he enjoy living there? Why was he wearing sunglasses, when the sun wasn't even shining that bright? Was he on the police force, too? Why had Judy left so suddenly, did he know?

"No," Nick had said, a little angrier than he should have in front of a relative stranger. "I don't know."

Lee picked up on his tone very quickly. "Oh, didn't part on good terms, then? That's a shame. Lover's quarrel?" She asked, somewhat innocently.

He didn't rise to the bait. "Just some tough police work. Why don't you concentrate on the road, like you said?"

"You're right. Say, know anything about any photographs?"

She was smiling at him, a suggestive little smirk that he did not like at all. "Nothing at all, darling," he said. "Didn't you know? I'm so old that my school portrait was a cave painting."

They got along well enough. She deigned to allow him to ride with her more after that first truck ride. She still tried to get him to talk, but he skillfully steered the conversation away from touchier subjects. They talked about music, and what it was like to live in a big city, and how Bunnyburrow wasn't the best place in the world to be. She was disgusted that Nick knew so many of the songs on her dad's old cassettes, and insisted that he stop acting like he was fifty years old. They complained about how the truck had crank windows, then cranked all of them down to feel wind blow through their fur as Lee drove down country roads at slightly unsafe speeds.

They weren't friends, but they were friendly. She spent more time with him than the rest of Judy's family, even if it wasn't quality time. The first month Nick spent on the farm, it seemed like he was closer to Judy's little sister than he was to Judy herself. It was a little disconcerting. He couldn't think of the last time he had spent so much time with a teenage girl, wondered if he ever had.

Lee climbed up the ladder to where Nick was sitting, looking slightly disgusted. Nick wondered what was so distasteful. He looked the same as he always did. He couldn't wear his nicer work clothes working on a farm, obviously, so while in Bunnyburrow, he had been wearing old tee shirts. Mostly from bands he had seen in high school and in his early twenties, some just from the racks at the charity shop a block away from where Finnick always parked his van in Sahara Square. Holey jeans that he didn't mind getting dirty. There was nothing off about his appearance, but Lee looked every bit the disgusted and disillusioned teenager as she looked down at Nick. She hit a blueberry out of his hand with a swipe of her paw.

"Hey," Nick said.

"What did you say to her?" She demanded.

"To Judy?"

"No, to Kim Klawdashian. Of course Judy!"

Nick got defensive, though he knew he had no right to be. Lee was right to be snappy with him, she should have just been outright angry. He had been needlessly cruel to Judy. "It wasn't anything she hadn't heard before."

"Then why has she been moping around with Addie in their friendship hole for the past three hours?"

"Friendship hole?"

Lee waved a paw in dismissal. "Doesn't matter. What did you tell her?"

"Are you asking out of general concern for your sister's wellbeing?" Nick tilted his head. "Or because you want the, as you children say, 'hot goss'?"

"No one has ever said that."

"I am a very hip fellow. I know all the slang."

"Shut up. What did you say?"

"It's less of what I said, and more of what I showed her." Nick flexed one scrawny arm. "These guns, Lee, were too much. Judy was overwhelmed. She had to take five, needed to recuperate."

"Can you take this seriously?"

"Have I ever taken anything in my life seriously? No, no I have not."

She raised an unimpressed eyebrow, and crossed her arms. "Whatever you did, I think you should apologize."

"Is that what you think?"

"Yes. I care about my sister, and I care that you did something that hurt her, before, during, and probably after your stay in this podunk."

"That's why I'm here, bunny. To make amends."

"Well, if that's true, you're doing a terrible job of it. Judy was bad when she first got here, don't know why, but she was. And it almost seemed like she was getting a little better, or at least distracting herself from whatever caused her to act like that. Then you show up."

"I'm trying, kid."

"Try harder."

"You know, it's not as easy as that."

"Sure it is. Try harder. Go and apologize and say something nice and thoughtful for once in your life."

"How is it that a kid is giving a grown mammal life advice?"

"When a grown mammal is acting like an idiot, it's necessary. Stop calling me a kid."

It was Nick's turn to raise an eyebrow. "You're acting I'm like the only one at fault here. Whatever happened to meeting someone halfway? Me and Judy have both done wrong."

"Have you? I won't even ask what happened."

"Smart kid."

"Stop it, would you? I'm not in the mood for your banter, Nick."

"You _are_ the one that came in here. I didn't force you to talk to me."

"I just came in here to give you a piece of my mind. Don't think we're friends or anything, Wilde— I'm gone."

Lee was nothing if not true to her word. She climbed down from the loft, wiping her paws on the seat of her shorts to clear them of dust once she was off the ladder. She weaved between bags of clothing, bed frames with slats missing, and old rusted reapers until she was at the big wooden double doors that closed Nick off from the rest of the farm. She gave a sarcastic wave— how was it that teenagers could make anything they did sarcastic? Nick had to work at his disdain, and Lee could channel it in just one gesture— and pushed on the doors until there was a gap. She squeezed through it, and then she really was gone. Nick did not mind Judy's sister, though she was much too nosy for her own good. But he was glad she was gone. He could drop his veneer, let go of his front, and let himself feel.

Nick was very good at bottling it all up. His emotions were in a turmoil, more mixed up than when he figured out Judy had been afraid of him, when Starkey's photos first started coming in. When Judy left. Yet he had kept it all in well. Lee had not noticed a thing was wrong, even with her discernable eye. Then again, maybe Lee was good at hiding things too. Maybe she had seen right through him. Nick generally felt better about himself than that, however. She hadn't noticed a thing except his normal, sardonic self, he was sure. His mind had been cycling through a thousand thoughts at a mile a minute. Judy, hurt, anger, Judy, frustration, love, he really hated farmwork, Judy, annoyance, apathy, Judy, Judy, _Judy_. He had still been able to look Lee in the eye, his limbs loose and relaxed. Smirk on his face and a sarcastic line ready to deliver in response to every one of her accusations. A month in the middle of nowhere had in no way softened his edge. He leaned against the wooden wall of the loft, wrapped his arms around his legs. Bowed his head. Slick Nick.

He would apologize to Judy. He would get his answers, and he would make amends. He would try to mend the gap that had grown between himself and Judy. He would grow up and talk about adult things, even if they hurt. He wanted Judy back in his life, and not just as a silent and pained shadow by his side. After all that, however his plans were sketchy. He had options, but none of them were overwhelmingly appealing. And all of them depended on how Judy felt about him.

He could stay in Bunnyburrow. That is, if Judy wanted him to stay. He would live alongside the Hopps family, and maybe they could all learn to trust him, not just Judy. They would accept him as one of their own, despite his height, his long snout, and his bright red fur. He could learn to love farmwork. He would gargle all the dirt, have grime and oil stains on his person for the rest of his existence. He would be with Judy.

He could go back to Zootopia. This was if Judy wanted him gone. This was if Judy decided she had had enough hurt, or if she decided she was sick of him. If Judy realized she made the right decision, walking out on him. He would go back to Zootopia, and he would beg for his job back. No, that's not right. Police work wouldn't be the same without Judy, it wouldn't be worth it. He would feel like a sham with that blue uniform on, it would be uncomfortable and ill-fitting without Officer Hopps at his side. He would crawl back to Finnick, maybe. Start up their old business again, make money, but hate himself while he was doing it. He could open a new path for himself, that was always possible. Go to college, maybe. Get a degree and make something better out of himself, something better than police grunt or popsicle hustler. But who would pull him through the arduous years of school? Him, thirty-four years old, college student. Judy had pulled him through police training, but she wouldn't be there for him if he went to school. Zootopia was an overwhelmingly unsatisfying choice, if Judy wasn't there. And she wouldn't be.

Options.

If he had the chance to go back to the way things were, he would do it in a heartbeat. Before Starkey, before Judy hurt him in a way she had never expected. Just him and her, paw in paw. Not quite against the world. He would go through the same ordeals, but he would know what to do. He would know how to comfort Judy, they would get through it together. He wouldn't be afraid to tell her how he felt about her. Odds would be stacked against them, but they would do it. They would make it out okay, they would prove everyone wrong. Together. They had done it before.

Nick was just distracting himself. He couldn't change what happened. He could only deal with the aftermath, and do his best to muddle through. He looked at the grain of the wooden walls, and he debated over what was the best way to approach Judy. What exactly he would say to her, what she might say in reply.

It was pretty bleak.


	11. Chapter 11

By some miracle, Judy was the one who came to him first.

No, that wasn't right. Judy was just being herself. For the first time in a long while, she had a goal in mind, if one discounted her abstract quest for healing herself or her effort to have a kickass herb garden. She was going to make Nick talk to her, even if it hurt her. She would pursue it, almost mindlessly.

It was like when she was trying to rescue Emmett Otterton when they had first met: she had faced crime bosses, mercenaries, drug lords, and nudists in her quest to find that otter. Probably without even realizing the sort of danger she was in. She risked life and limb just so she could save one mammal and, ultimately, follow her dream. Only now, she was just trying to save her friendship.

Instead of risking her life, she was just risking a great deal of her happiness. And Nick didn't think he was as dangerous as, say, Mr. Big. He didn't have huge polar bear cronies, or a convenient ice pit to throw people who annoyed him in. He was just a fox with a troubled past and an inability to talk about his feelings. But he thought there were definite similarities to the situations.

He had been sitting up in his loft after Lee had left, not doing much besides feeling sorry for himself and tracing the whorls in the wood in front of him with his eyes. He wanted to approach Judy, but he didn't exactly know how. He wanted to reconcile all that had come between them, but it seemed impossible. The act of even moving seemed impossible. He couldn't even make himself get up, not even once dinner time had rolled around. Food was tempting, and his stomach protested, but he wasn't sure if he could face Judy yet.

He wasn't courageous. Nick had taken on the role of a police officer, which was considered by many to be a rather brave decision, but he felt himself as fundamentally a coward. He took the easy way out, but who could fault him? He was complacent in situations which should not have bred complacency, but not many were willing to face adversity, or to wage conflict with broad, overarching ideas and situations. Not many mammals make the tough choices, not enough mammals fight to do what is right, or what is hard. Which in this particular case, was the same thing.

Judy was more than willing. She was willing to break the mold and do what was uncomfortable and unexpected of her. She had always looked forward to an opportunity to prove other mammals wrong. More importantly, for Nick, at least, she was willing to challenge her current situation. She was going to drag her best friend kicking and screaming through a conversation that they needed to have. And that was why Nick was interrupted from his train of thought, or lack thereof, by a knock. A knock on the big wooden double doors of the building. There was no lock, the Hoppses were much too trusting for that sort of thing. And besides, it was just junk and a fox squatter occupying the building. No one would really care if anything within was damaged.

Whoever was knocking was just doing it out of consideration for him, to let Nick know that they were there. That _she_ was there. Nick was positive of who it was, because who else would want to come and see him at this time? He didn't know the exact time, but it was late. The loft was dark all the time, since there weren't any windows, but for one dusty one no bigger than Judy's head directly over the doors. All other light filtered in between gaps in the wooden slats that formed the walls. It grew even darker at night down on the floor, probably impossible to navigate. That is, if he hadn't been a fox. Good night vision. Decent hearing, too. Not as good as Judy's, but still decent.

Despite his sensitive ears, however, it was surprising he had heard the knock in the first place. While he had been sitting above the old threshing floor, it had started to rain. Softly at first, but building up strength. The rain was not quite pelting the roof of the old outbuilding, but it was doing some mild drumming. It would get there, and would probably crescendo its way into a storm eventually.

Nick had honestly been waiting for a sign of Judy coming to him, but he had considered it a wild hope. He had not believed it could actually happen. Lee had made sure to emphasize that Judy was pretty upset about the events of the afternoon. Yet there was her voice. It was loud, but somehow still tentative. She wanted to be heard over the storm, but the quality of her speech made it seem like she was regretting the words immediately as they spilled out of her mouth. Still, it was better than nothing, and Nick would take it.

"Can I come in?" She asked. One of the double doors shifted slightly, as she leaned her weight against it. Nick knew she was coming in anyway, but he appreciated the small nicety. A balm to soothe the hurt that was about to be raised by whatever they were going to talk about. Judy did not know the full extent of his hurt, but she still took some consideration of it. That was her way.

He felt a warm stirring in his chest at the sound of her. He had been silly, to ever think that Judy would not attempt to force him to talk. To think that he would have had to be the one to find her first. She had too much stubbornness, an almost permanent refusal to give up that often got her into trouble. He had underestimated her, and her strength. For a bunny, she could be incredibly pig-headed. She had seemed pretty dead set that afternoon, and he knew she would get him to talk, even if it killed her. But he wouldn't string her along any more.

"Sure thing," he called out in reply. "Just let me slip into something a little more comfortable."

Judy had this little scoff, something between a snort and a sigh, that she made whenever she was truly fed up with Nick's joking around. Or if a joke was so terrible, that it didn't warrant a smile or a laugh, just a sound of disgust. There was no way Nick could have heard it, across the threshing floor, rain dimming the sound of Judy's movements across the floor, everything muffled by the old sheets and tarps draped over furniture and machinery. But he could imagine it perfectly, and that little noise echoed around in his head while he watched the bunny stumble through the maze of junk to where the ladder to his loft was.

Her fur was damp. She was very nearly dripping with all the water on her. It was raining harder than he thought. He thought that the bunny could have just been wandering through the rain for a while, contemplating. It was a nice image, even if somewhat melancholy. Thinking of Nick while getting poured on, mud on her feet and looking like any other twenty-something year old mammal from a crappy romcom, during those serious bits. The scenes where writers tried to act as if their story wasn't just some tired, run-of-the-mill story by adding in some drama, or some heartbreak.

Nick, as a rule, did not watch many romantic comedies, but when he did, he always thought those were the worst parts of the movies. If you were going to do a romcom, stick to your guns and don't add all that dreary crap. Keep to the sappy love story, that's what they were here for! Judy would be sitting next to him, tears stinging at the corners of her eyes, smacking his arm as he criticized whatever they were watching. Those were days gone by, maybe forever.

Nick sighed, and watched Judy stumble around.

Judy couldn't see as well as Nick could in the dark, and she bumped into a fair number of solid objects, quietly grunting or cursing as she made her way to Nick's loft. She didn't have her phone on her, or else she would be using it as a flashlight. It was a little amusing, to watch her bumble around when she could have navigated the area with ease maybe two or three hours earlier. "Need any help?" Nick called, after she swore particularly loudly, her knee having hit something that resembled an old fridge. She did not reply, just kept soldiering on. Despite her difficulties, she eventually made it to the base of the ladder. Judy may have lost her passion for police work, but she did not lose the physical fitness police training had beaten into her. She climbed up the ladder quickly.

Her mouth was open as she stepped from the ladder and crawled up onto the floor. She was ready to talk, that was clear, her lips just on the edge of forming a word. Her body was tense, and her nose twitching. Agitated. Judy was just on the edge of soaking, her fur flattened and her shirt and leggings looking unpleasantly wet, sticking to her. She brushed her paws on her legs, straightened up, and raised her finger like she was about to start scolding Nick. He held up a finger of his own, however, and spoke before she got the chance to say a word.

"We'll talk, Carrots, don't you worry your little fuzzy head about it. But would it have killed you to use an umbrella?"

Judy deflated, her ears drooping from their previous heightened state. "I prepared an amazing opening statement," she told Nick. "It was going to be very effective, and you just ruined it."

"Well, you're the one that just walked through a storm to have a conversation. I'm just commenting on the foolishness of walking through the rain without a raincoat or an umbrella."

"Thanks."

Silence. It stretched on and on. Judy crossed her arms, and looked away from Nick. He figured she must have felt pretty put out about not being able to deliver her speech. The fox wondered if she was using Bogo's interrogation technique on purpose. If so, it was working. He had felt guilty that afternoon, after shouting at her. He felt even worse with her in front of him, the hurt evident in the set of her shoulders, and the way she averted her eyes. She dripped quietly on the floor, and shivered. The loft was drafty. She just wrapped her arms further around herself.

"Want to change you clothes? I got plenty here. Sweatpants'll be more comfortable than those wet leggings."

"No."

"Alright. Take a blanket? You seem cold."

"I'm fine."

"Take a blanket."

"I'm fine, Nick."

He stretched himself out, reaching for the mattress he and Judy had dragged up there a month before. She had collected a nest of blankets for him before she had shown him his new living space. He had protested: the summer nights were relatively warm, and he didn't think the draftiness of the building was too terrible. She insisted, however. And so did he. He gave the blanket to Judy, who, despite her insistence that she was fine, wrapped the plaid quilt around her shoulders.

Silence.

For an uncomfortable length of time.

"Well, geez," Nick said. "I thought you wanted to talk?"

"I don't want to talk, Nicholas. I think it's necessary."

"Did you really just call me Nicholas?"

She breezed by. "I didn't appreciate you raising your voice at me earlier, or the times before that. I want to be rational about this, and that means no shouting."

"I didn't shout, I just… enunciated fully. Why are you talking like that?"

"You shouted."

"Yeah, alright."

"I'm just trying to stay sensible, and not get emotional."

"That's the whole point, Carrots. This…" Nick motioned vaguely between the two of them. He was being very sensible. "This has been put off for too long, and it's not going to be pretty. But I already know you're an ugly crier, and you know I'm always perfectly reasonable, so we're fine."

"I'm not an ugly crier."

"You are beautiful, Judy. But you're an ugly crier."

She waved a paw, embarrassed. "Whatever. When have you ever been reasonable?"

"I'm a very rational fox. See this, right here? Talking it out. Very, very reasonably."

"You aren't talking. You're stalling."

"Me? Stalling? You would accuse me of stalling?"

"Yes."

Nick blinked. He had promised himself, but it was hard to get the words out. It was just so difficult to dredge up an old painful memory. He didn't want to say it out loud, though he had been thinking about it nonstop since Judy had left. It had always been there, but she had brought up the past hurt again, harsher and closer. It was like a cut in his mouth, something he couldn't help but probe with his tongue. He couldn't leave it alone in his thoughts, but putting it into words suddenly seemed almost impossible.

Nick scratched the back of his head, and tried to organize the riot of his thoughts. Judy watched expectantly. Fur still damp, but she wasn't shivering anymore, with the blanket around her shoulders. Nick wished he could have persuaded her into changing into something dry, but figured that was going a little too far. He hadn't done what she had wanted yet. Maybe she would be sensible and put on a pair of his gym shorts if he went ahead and spit it out already.

He rolled old, tired words around in his mouth, trying to find a good place to start. "Alright, here goes. You left, Judy." She tossed her head and rolled her eyes. She was tired of the old statement. She wanted something new. An explanation for Nick's behavior, a reason why he had drawn out an annoying case of miscommunication for almost two months. But Judy's original miscommunication was the only reason he was still torn up. If she had warned him, maybe he would have been fine. That she had left without saying, that's what made it sting. He sighed. Nick rubbed his eyes with a paw, and continued. "And you left without saying. The reason I'm…" he trailed off, unable to articulate just exactly what he was feeling, "I'm like this is because you aren't the only one that's done that to me."

"Yes, you've mentioned all that before."

"This is stupid. Okay, Judy, I didn't really grow up with a father, right? And that shouldn't still bother me. But it—" Nick stopped, shaking his head. "I'm, what, thirty-four years old? God."

"What does age matter?"

"Age matters, Judy, because I'm an adult and you leaving made me feel like I was seven years old again! That exact feeling, when your mom tells you that— I can't."

She just watched him. Something like pity in her eyes, and Nick couldn't stand it. That's why he hadn't said anything. He was being childish, and Judy was judging him for it. He was supposed to be past something like this, at his age, but it just wouldn't leave him alone. He was telling her now what she had wanted to hear, and she was just judging him. He stopped speaking, stared down into his lap. Judy kept on watching him. Eventually, she spoke.

"Your dad walked out on you?" She asked. She posed it like a question, but she already knew the answer.

Nick winced. Old wounds. "Yeah. I mean, over two decades ago. And that's fine! I never really knew the guy, and maybe I missed him for ten years, but that's all over now. This isn't about him. I don't want to talk about that."

"Why not?"

"Because then that's all you'll see when you look at me! Some guy that's got issues because he didn't have a strong father figure, or something. It's not about that. It's not about him."

"How is this not about that?"

"Because it's about you! Listen, I was used to getting walked out on. My dad. I had this on-again, off-again relationship in my twenties— this badger— that all stopped phasing me. I had become used to it. People left, it happens. But then you came into my life. You made me think I had someone I could depend on. And maybe we didn't know each other for that long, but it seemed like it was going to be forever. I didn't really care how we were together, how others would feel about the two of us, what type of relationship we would have…" he trailed off again. He didn't want to finish the statement, he didn't want to lie to Judy. "But I _really_ thought it was a forever sort of thing. Together, no matter what. I've never had anything like that, but I mean, that's what it was to me. Like something out of a movie. And then you were gone."

"I had my reasons, Nick," Judy said, bitingly.

He didn't want her to snap at him. He didn't want to raise his voice. He wanted this conflict between them to end. He was sick of his best friend not being comfortable around him, and he was tired of having to examine all his behavior to ensure that he did not expand whatever rift had grown between them. Suddenly, everything just bubbled out of him. A flood of words that he felt he had no power to stop. He just let them flow.

"No," he said. "I'm not trying to pick a fight right now. I know this. I know you felt that you had to leave the force, and I knew you had your reasons for not telling me. I understand, after being here for a while, that you were probably right. You were messed up after the case, and I don't know, somehow, sitting out here and living out your own personal Little House on the Prairie has really helped you out. But, see, that doesn't change how I feel, Judy. I've never cared about anyone the way I care about you. It made me feel terrible, watching you slowly break down and lose yourself. You were there, but you weren't there. And it was endlessly frustrating. I just wanted to grab you by the shoulders and shake you until some sense got into your head! It's not fair, but that's how it went. I was frustrated, and I was miserable, and I was angry with that mole, with the courts, with everything. And we were both going through hard times, separate from one another. For months! Whatever that mole made us act like, though, whatever those photos did to you and me, that was nothing compared to how I felt when you left.

"It was panic. I would have been more rational, but remember that lie you sold me that week before you left? Yeah, you act like you're fine again. For a week, that's what made me really freak out, that there had been some good times before you disappeared on me. I've been worrying for months about you, you're in this fog of listlessness in tears. I had thought for a long time that you were going to hurt yourself, you know. You were just so sad, and so empty, Judy. I thought you would make some bad decision, make a bad call one night on a sting and get yourself shot, stabbed maybe. You were reasonable, but you were so _sad_ , and then it wouldn't have been unreasonable for me to think that you would confront a criminal who was a little too big, and get swung at a little too hard and end up in the hospital. I mean, these were real fears of mine. Then suddenly, it's like all my dreams came true, and you were okay.

"You were laughing, and you were smiling. And we woke up early to get good breakfast, and good coffee. And you didn't complain when I played new wave in the car, and you didn't complain when my shirt wasn't tucked into my uniform. I thought, yeah, things are shaping up. She wasn't letting one case get to her anymore. And we sang loudly, and you agreed to go out and drink with me, which you never, ever did. Even before Starkey. All those casual touches, Judy. And then panic. My mind was going a mile a minute, realizing you had been faking being alright. For a week! I thought you had really gone and done what I had feared for so long. You neighbors weren't any help, Bogo wouldn't tell me a thing. I was out of my mind with worry, when I had woken up that morning with such high hopes. Like, seven o'clock on a Saturday. But it had seemed worth it, before I realized you had disappeared. I was going to confess to you, that morning you were gone."

"Confess what?"

She interrupted him, and he realized he was breathing heavily. He had just spoken in the past few minutes than he had in the past few months. He didn't understand, suddenly. He didn't understand Judy. The words stopped flooding out of him, and Nick looked at her. Really looked at her. He had been talking to her, but wasn't exactly meeting her eye as he spoke. Perhaps a better description would be that he was talking _at_ her. It was a hefty subject, and he didn't feel like looking deep into her eyes as he unloaded all of his emotions of the past three or four months onto her. Judy's eyes were beautiful and pleasant and comfortable to look at, and he didn't want to ruin that image for himself. But now, he gave her a look of pure incredulity. Full on. He raised an eyebrow, frowned slightly.

"You…" He cleared his throat. His voice had gotten rough from the amount of talking he had just done. "You really don't know?"

Judy shook her head. "I don't think so. I'm sorry that I made you worry so much, though. I left the way I did to avoid that sort of reaction from you. I thought it wouldn't have hurt you badly, if I just disappeared."

Nick scoffed. He almost didn't believe her. "Really? For being top of your class, you really are oblivious."

"What? The confession, or my flawed logic?"

"Both, Carrots! That's unbelievable. I've been pretty obvious." He smiled down at his hands. Dumb bunny. "That's been bothering me, though: how could you think just leaving without saying anything was better than talking it out with me? I don't understand that."

"I believe my reasoning was that it would be a little like ripping off a bandaid. Maybe a flash of pain, but gone soon enough."

"What was that?" Nick counted the weeks on his paw. "In April?"

"Yes."

"It's what, July now? I don't think I've been spared of any pain, personally. There was a flaw in your master plan, Officer."

She straightened. He had said the wrong thing. "I'm not an officer anymore."

An easy way to remedy that. He said jokingly, "Neither am I."

Judy sighed. She pulled the blanket tighter around her shoulders, and watched Nick. The rain was still drumming on the roof, and Nick wondered how long that would go on. It was horrible, to work with the earth after it had been raining for a while. Mud stuck to everything. The kits all jumped in puddles and smeared muck all over themselves, and it was messy and miserable. More so than usual. The smell of the crop after a storm was pleasant, and the air always seemed a little clearer than before, but ultimately, it wasn't worth all the stains at the end of the day. Nick stopped himself, then berated himself for thinking about farming of all things, at a time like this, as well as in general. He was a city mammal. Even if he did prove to be adept at farm work. He looked at Judy. He could usually read her like a book, but it was hard to tell what was going on behind her eyes. More than anything, she just seemed tired.

Then, there was something almost approaching mischief that flashed behind all that fatigue.

"You know," she said. She smiled slightly, looking down into her lap. She probably thought Nick couldn't see, but he liked watching her. And, again, he had excellent night vision. "You could tell me that confession now."

"You clever bunny," he replied. He smiled along with her, wide enough so that he knew she could see his teeth shine slightly in the darkness of the loft. "You liar! You know exactly what I'm going to say."

"I just want to hear it." She pulled her quilt tighter around herself, if only to have something to do with her paws. Judy seemed a little embarrassed, which is how Nick knew that she knew. He wouldn't give her the satisfaction of hearing it put into words just yet. They were just now making up, after all. Or doing something approaching reconciling. She wouldn't get it all handed to her in one sitting. She could wait a little while longer, and so could he.

"Sorry, darlin'. You'll have to wait until I have another great opportunity to lay it all down. You see, I had a great plan."

"Did you?"

"Oh yeah. Take you out for that gross fruity tea you like, buy you a bagel or something. Maybe a cinnamon roll; there were lots of options. I would sit you down in a booth by the window, watch you be positively overjoyed to be awake before eleven o'clock on the weekend. I was going to lay out my heart over a café table with a kitschy table cloth. You know, that quirky little coffee shop you insisted on every day that week before you left? Yeah. Hold your paw, sing a song. Pay for everything, not forget my wallet for once. It was all going to be very involved. But you were gone. Missed your chance."

"That's a shame." She didn't look too disappointed, however. Maybe she could tell what Nick's train of thought was. Maybe she was willing to be patient. Maybe she just saw the big smile that didn't seem to want to leave his face. He tried to school his expression, and succeeded somewhat.

"It really is," he told her. "That's why I panicked, I think. You had become this bigger figure to me over night, something more, you know. You know! Wipe that smile off your face. I'm getting serious again, because then you were gone. And it was kind of terrifying, because no one knew where you had gone, and I was going to buy you tea and breakfast. You had vanished, and I was thinking, 'oh god, she's lying in a ditch somewhere and I was going to buy her a bagel'. Then I talked to Bogo later on, and you weren't lying in a ditch. You had just _left_ , you had gone somewhere far away and that buffalo wasn't letting a single word slip about where. And then I was seven years old again, and the mammal I loved most in the world had abandoned me without a single word."

She looked much more sober than she had before. Looking down at her lap again, and not smiling. "I'm sorry."

He waved a paw. "Yeah. And that's why there's been this rift, I guess. All that stuff you've got on your shoulders, and then me, being childish. Not willing to discuss all this. You being gone just drudged up all these things I wanted to forget. It hurt, and I know I've been exceedingly cold and distant. I've been taking things out on you that… well, you don't deserve the full extent of it. I know my behavior been making you feel even worse. I'm sorry for that."

"If I hurt you, why did you come looking for me?"

"The same reason why you didn't tell me to leave when I showed up."

"That's fair enough."

"Lee came to me a few hours before you came in." Judy straightened up again, looked at Nick. "Told me that you were moping around in a friendship hole, whatever that is. Said I need to talk to you and apologize. Then you showed up. Despite all that crap you've been through, you're still you. Still Carrots; stubborn to a fault. And that made me smile, when you first knocked on the door. Being here is doing you a lot of good."

Judy smiled at the use of the nickname. "I didn't come home just to farm carrots, you know. I'm here for a reason."

"Is this home, Judy?"

"I grew up here. My whole family is here, and you're here now. That makes it home."

He couldn't keep himself from asking. "What about the city?"

"I don't really— I can't talk about it."

"That's why we're here. That's why you're sitting in dirty hay with wet clothes still on. It needs to be said."

"There's too many bad memories, Nick."

She was trying to shut him out, like he had been doing to her. He wouldn't allow it, and he pressed on. "You'll let that ruin Zootopia? A handful of bad memories ruining all the good ones?"

"I can't split them up. You know me. It all runs together, and I can't separate it. There's you, and all the good work we did together. We have a lot of good memories, Nick. Maybe it's unreasonable to let one mammal's actions to ruin all we built up, but he killed in my name. He tortured in my name. Nick, he was at my apartment. Starkey violated my safety, and the safety of the city, and I can't really reconcile that."

"It isn't impossible, Carrots. You just have to try."

"You think I didn't try? That's all I do! It's like I'm paralyzed. I want to fix everything, but I can't. There's no way to mend everything that was broken."

"Then don't fix everything. Just work on the little things, first."

"That's what I'm doing. That's why I'm here." She looked down at her paws. "Bunnyburrow, and here, right now. Trying to make myself better, that's my goal. I was upset about it earlier, Nick, when you said you shouldn't have followed me here. I felt crushed, because I want you here, but you're miserable, and I shouldn't be subjecting you to this life when you don't want to live it. You don't need to be here. I should have told you that a while ago."

"I know I don't need to. I want to be here."

"We have a lot of good memories, Nick," she repeated. He didn't like the way she said his name like it was a goodbye. "And maybe that's all we need. You need to go back to _your_ home. Back to Zootopia."

"You don't mean that." He shook his head. "You can't mean that.

Judy looked like she was in pain. "Nick, you aren't happy here. You hate farm work. You complain about it every day, and I know you're getting tired of it. You don't like my family, and most of them don't trust you and don't want you here. My parents think you're some kind of menace, and on top of all that, you have to sleep in this place. This isn't a life you want to live."

She was saying nothing but the truth, but she was missing one key fact. He wasn't happy, but he wasn't unhappy either. He hated working on a farm. He didn't like the great outdoors, the sprawling fields or the fresh air. He didn't like the bugs, or the siblings that just kept coming, asking him invasive questions and stroking his red fur like they hadn't seen anything like it before. But it wasn't all bad, not at all. He had something that made all that bad seem worthwhile.

"You don't speak for me," he told Judy. "This is the life I want."

Judy shook her head. "I can't believe you."

"You have to. I want to be here."

"That makes no sense." She shook her head again. Her voice wobbled the tiniest bit, and Nick kept himself from reaching out to her. "You're not happy here, and I can't think of any reason why you would want to stay, when you've got your home waiting for you in Zootopia."

"Really?" He scoffed. "No reason at all?"

"Zootopia wasn't ruined for you. There isn't anything holding you back from staying there and thriving, like there is for me. You can go back, get your job, and succeed. And I'll be here, cheering you on. That's what you should want."

"I already said it, I want to be here. I have a reason to be here. How can you not see that?"

"What could it possibly be? Nick, don't pretend that you're happy here. You don't want this."

"But I want you." Judy looked confused for half a second, then opened her mouth to argue. Nick held up a paw to silence her. "That's why I'm here. If you're not in my life, I can't really enjoy it. I probably shouldn't depend on you for something like that, but…" He shrugged. "You heard me before, Carrots. I was in the city, my home, and I was miserable. I managed it without you, but I wasn't happy anymore. Because with you, I'm happy. You make me happy, and that's the truth. I didn't like my apartment, my job, the people I knew. Then I figured out you were here. And maybe I'm miserable here as well, but I think that's because this thing needed to happen between us first. I'd be lying to you if I said I didn't hate farm work, but if it means living a life alongside you, Judy, then it's worth it."

She just sat there, her mouth still open. "You don't mean that," she eventually said.

"How can you know? I meant what I said."

"I can't believe you."

"Okay," he said. "Why not?"

"You're not happy here, and I can't be the reason for your unhappiness."

"Were you listening to a single word I've been saying? You're the reason I _am_ happy."

"I can't believe you! Nick, look at you." He did. He was a fox, scrawny. In a Durant Durant shirt that was only a few years younger than Judy and blue jeans stained purple from the berries he had foolishly stuck in his pocket. He wasn't sure what she wanted. "This isn't you. Not here, not… not with me."

"You aren't the one who decides that. What, is that why you wanted to talk, this whole time? You wanted to hear me talk about how I feel, then let me know that it's wrong?"

"No! That's not it. It's just, I can't see why."

"Why what?"

"Why it's me. How you can still… It's me, Nick."

"What does that mean?"

"It means it's my fault!" She slapped her paw against the floor, making them both jump. Nick had not expected her to raise her voice. It seemed like she had not expected to raise her voice, either. She kept her wide eyes on the floor, on one piece of dirty straw. "It was my decision to come out here, to remove myself from the situation. I couldn't be there with you, and— and you can't be here with me. I can't drag you down with all this."

"First of all, It's not your fault. And second, that's not your decision!"

"You can't say that. You can't say that, Nick! Whose inbox were those pictures in? Whose name was on those envelopes? Who was the one that didn't get him behind bars the first time? Who was the one who only managed to get him charged with thirty years? Me! I don't know how that transfers into your head, but to me, that means it's my fault. I might as well have put the knife in his hand."

"Now, that's just stupid. Carrots, look at me. Judy." She raised her head to meet his eyes. He reached out to grab her paw, but then realized they were wrapped up in the quilt. He patted her knee, instead, a little awkwardly. It didn't seem like supportive enough a touch, but he couldn't do much else. He wasn't sure how she would respond. She had looked at him with so much care in her eyes, and now she was trying to drive him away. He spoke in his calmest voice. "You can't help that there are sick mammals in the world, and there's no way you could have foreseen the sentences that would get passed, or what Starkey would do as a result of them. You did your best job, enforced the law to the best of your capability, and that is all that matters. That's all you're responsible for. It's not your fault that some mammals got hurt."

"Her name was Poppy."

"I know, Judy. Her name was Poppy Glenn, and she died, but that is not your fault. No one blames you for it. I don't blame you for it, and you shouldn't blame yourself."

"I can't just _stop_."

"I understand that, and I can't change the way I feel. I can tell you not to blame yourself, and you can tell me to stop caring about you, but neither thing is going to change."

"So that means we're at an impasse."

"Big word," said Nick. There was a flash of lightning that briefly lit up the threshing floor, casting long shadows over Judy and all the junk piled below them. Nick braced himself for the deafening crash of thunder that followed, and did a good job of not flinching. "No, we aren't. The only thing this means is that I'm going to stay, and we'll figure things out as they come. You won't try to push me away, and we'll talk about our feelings until you're sick of it. Then you can tell me how you're sick of it, and I'll say 'that's too bad, pass the shears', because we'll be in your garden, or in the orchard. Doing farm work, I'll be complaining, and it'll be okay."

"I can't make you stay here."

"You aren't making me stay. I'm not lying to you. I want to be here."

"With me."

"With you," Nick agreed.

There was silence, but it wasn't the bad kind. It wasn't filled with tension, or hurt. There wasn't hatred or sadness in the space between words. It was just space, and they could fill it with whatever they wanted. Judy was just a roundish form in front of him, plaid quilt wrapped around her shoulders like a mantle. She wasn't shivering, though she was still damp from the rain. The rain kept going, beating against the roof, the wind buffeting the walls.

He hated storms out in the country, the way they rushed in and refused to leave. The way the wind whistled through the open land, how the trees clattered against each other like a bag of bones. The thunder echoed for miles, the lightning was much more noticeable, without buildings to hide it, without city lights to drown it all out. She watched him, and she didn't smile. He didn't think she was unhappy, however. She blamed herself for a lot, more than she would ever tell him, probably. He knew that she had been scared that he would agree with her, that he would take her up on her offer to leave. But he wouldn't go unless he was sure that she wanted that. She didn't.

She reached a paw out of her quilt to grab Nick's. She didn't say anything, there wasn't a need for words. At least, he didn't think so. She wasn't really okay, but she was glad he was there. Nick was a comfort, and she was content, at least for the moment. He dropped his head on her shoulder, sliding down against the wall so that it wasn't an uncomfortable position. He rubbed his thumb over her paw, and delighted in its smallness. He liked how safe he felt with her. He liked how this was almost like old times.

"I'm happy," he told her. "Happier than I've been in a while."

"We should have done this a while ago," Judy replied, a little superior.

"Yeah, alright. When do you think you'll go back to the house?"

She blinked. "You want me to go?"

"No! No, of course not. I don't know why I said that. I don't want you to go."

"That's good, because I don't think I'm leaving any time soon."

"Oh?"

"Never, if I have my way."

"Wow," Nick said, smile on his face. He wasn't sure when it had gotten there, and he wasn't sure if it was going to leave. Not much had happened, they hadn't even spoken about much. But they had gotten over some sort of hurdle, and he was glad. "You really like this crappy little outbuilding, don't you?"

"Yeah, that's why I want to stay."

"Just that?"

"Yep. Do you have shorts or something that I could change into? These leggings are killing me."

Nick turned around and pretended to not watch Judy peel off her wet clothes and put on his. Judy pretended not to notice that he was watching her. She laughed under her breath to let him know that she really didn't mind, but she threw her shirt at his face anyway. He was still smiling, even when he jumped about a foot in the air from a particularly loud boom of thunder that he hadn't been expecting. It came sooner than he thought it would. It sounded like the storm was right over the outbuilding. He grimaced, knowing the bunny with him had just gotten a new supply of cannon fire. Judy was sitting closer to him than before, grinning hugely in his shirt, his sweatpants. Damp and smiling and beautiful. She nudged him with one of her feet.

"I knew you were afraid of storms," she said.

"I'm not," he insisted. "They're just loud."

She wrapped an arm around his shoulder. He liked her arm there. "You know I don't believe you. Don't worry! I'll protect you from the big, scary storm," she told him, in a voice that was annoyingly babyish.

"My hero," he replied. He could do with the teasing, he enjoyed the teasing. There was no longer a gaping hole between them. In fact, Nick was coming to realize that there had never been a gaping hole. It had always been just a small gap, something he could have jumped over, if he had just made the effort. Relatively easy to bridge or mend. Nick found himself looking forward to the days ahead of him, suddenly. He was excited to see what came next.

He threw himself down to the floor, dragging her down with him. He surprised a laugh out of her. She smiled at him, even as she slapped his chest and spit old straw out of her mouth. He smiled back at her, wider still as she kept her arm around him. They laid on the dusty wood floor together, holding each other's paws and listening to the rain and the wind. It took every ounce of Nick's willpower to not turn his head slightly and kiss her cheek. Kiss her smiling mouth. He overreacted to every crash of thunder, just so he could watch her shake on the floor with her deep belly laughs.

He wasn't sure what this was. Nick knew for sure that not everything was resolved. For that to happen, they would have to talk for hours, into morning, until their throats were sore and they were sick of each other's voices. He knew that there might be more difficult and taxing conversations in the future, but he would do his best to not run away from them anymore. He had a lot to say, and he knew she had a lot she hadn't told him. She had been through a lot, and he would let her tell him all about it. He owed Judy that. At any rate, he figured the most important issue had been solved. Judy knew of his feelings about her leaving, and about her in general. He was staying on the farm, and he would do it gladly. Anything to have what was happening now. Looking at each other breathlessly, smiling a little dumbly as rain beat down on the roof above their heads.

He loved her.


	12. Chapter 12

"Is that my sweatshirt?" He asked her.

She shifted gears as they went over the rise of the road, truck lurching back and stalling when she didn't do it quick enough. She grunted softly, adjusted her paw's hold on the shift, ignoring Nick. Not completely, though. She smiled at his words, but she didn't answer his question. Judy was focusing on the road, instead. She had spent too much time in the past few years behind the wheel of her squad car, on city streets, and she hadn't completely transitioned to driving stick just yet. Driving on a dirt road was very different from the smooth paved streets of Zootopia. She had been very adept at it all five years ago. It was all very frustrating, to not have that skill anymore. It was her own fault for getting so out of practice. Maybe she would insist on going out driving with Lee one of these days, and she could learn to drive alongside her younger sister. Yes, that was a plan.

Nick pulled her out of her thoughts, reaching out and resting his paw over hers on the gear shift. She almost started at the touch, but soon relaxed. This was fine, now. Two, three weeks since they had done something like reconcile. Nothing was perfect, not by a longshot. Judy still felt guilt over everything and nothing in particular all at once. A sense of heaviness that rested on her shoulders and made it hard to move, to think, to do anything. Then there was the occasional dash of self-loathing to keep things interesting, on top of all that. For Nick, though, things seemed pretty much okay. He was the one who initiated it all.

Things like casual brushes against one another, lingering interactions that they hadn't really defined yet. Heads on shoulders, paws around waists, bumping into each other as they walked up and down the rows of crops on hot afternoons. Judy liked it, but she tried her best to keep it from everyone else. She knew there would be judgement upon her and Nick. Mostly Nick, since they were in a community full of rabbits. It seemed inevitable. It would be present on the family farm, as well as in town. She didn't want Nick at the end of ignorant comments. She didn't want to see her parents with worry and discomfort in their eyes. They worried for her safety— at least, that was what Bonnie had told her once. Her parents just didn't really understand. It was the worth the risk, whatever the risk may be. Judy was happy with Nick, and the thing between them was one of the most comfortable and natural things she had done in her life. Easier than waking up in the morning, simpler than taking a breath and letting it out. All they did was hold paws, sometimes, lean just a little too close to one another when having a conversation, touching a little too often for it to be just considered just friendly. It was simple, and it was good. Most other mammals didn't see it that way. They saw it as something unnatural, or at least a little strange. Not everyone, but enough that it was still seen as taboo, even in this day and age.

But her family was not with her, not then. It was just her and Nick in the cab of the truck, and she let him keep his paw over hers, solid and warm. It wasn't something she would have allowed herself a few weeks ago, but now she had this small comfort. Guilt knocked her down to the dirt, but she had Nick to help her up. He was nothing more than a friend. But it seemed inevitable that he would become something more, and she was alright with waiting just a little bit longer. She would savor this little thing they had for as long as possible, and maybe that would make her eventuality even sweeter when it came.

"Don't ask questions you know the answers to," Judy finally said in response to his inquiry, not exactly putting her heart into the scolding. "And put on your seatbelt."

"Yes, ma'am," said Nick. He pulled his paw back from where it had rested on the gear shift, and Judy heard a little _click_ as he buckled his seatbelt. Once that was done, he put his paw instead on her knee. She restrained herself very nicely, and did not release the squeal of excitement she wanted to at that small, intimate touch. It was just so new, and unfamiliar, and right. She adored this, that she could know Nick for almost three years now, and still be surprised by what he did. Her stomach still tied itself up in knots around him, sometimes. Mostly, it was nice and routine. Something comfortable, that was a natural step for her to make. But then he would do something unexpected and wonderful, and she felt like her heart would jump out of her chest because of how fast it was beating. Or that maybe, if he did it again, she would melt into a vaguely bunny-sized puddle onto the ground. "Because we all know how dangerous the roads are in Bunnyburrow at six in the morning."

"Oh sure, very dangerous," Judy agreed. "Lots of traffic, busy intersections. And you never know when someone will get fed up with you and push you out the door."

"It could happen to anyone, right? Guess that's why I put my seatbelt on."

"Fast learner."

He smiled at her. She could see the glint of his teeth out of the corner of her eye, the dark of his gums making his teeth seem even whiter. The sun wasn't really out yet, since it was so early, but he still had his sunglasses on. He hadn't carried his laundry to the house in a while, so he was wearing a shirt that Judy was pretty sure was meant to be for pajamas. The shirt had once had a gaudy neon design on it, but now it was just a shapeless and flakey mass of bright pinks and oranges. It was much too small on him, even when she considered that most of his clothes were too small for him. If she looked over, she would see much more of his stomach than she wanted to see. Or maybe she wanted to. She wasn't sure. Anyway, regardless of how she felt about seeing more of him, she wished he had put forth more of an effort. They were trying to sell as much stuff as possible today. It wasn't good business sense to look shabby.

"What are you smiling about?"

"Nothing," Nick replied. "It looks good on you."

She beamed. She knew there was some purpose for her keeping his Depelk Mode sweatshirt for so long, even if it was just for one measly compliment.

They were on their way into town, or what town constituted as Bunnyburrow. There wasn't much. It was essentially just street lined with shops. Not any boutiques, or anything special. Necessities were sold, and that was about it. It was Lee's worst nightmare, and probably one of the largest reasons for her wanting to leave. There was a supermarket, and a drug store. A store that sold clothes as well as odds and ends. But it was the sort of clothes that were for utility, not for style. Coveralls and sturdy clothes, a lot of plaid. Maud Sheeran and her sister Marge had a little restaurant with a shaky internet connection and the best grits their side of Zootopia. The school was a little ways down the road, past the town's only hotel, which also functioned as their only bar. Even then, hotel was a generous word: it was just a building with three or four rooms to let. Bar was a generous word as well: all the drinks were just bought two doors down at the supermarket and served in a dusty glass with a few pieces of ice. There was an auto supply store, and not much else, with the exception of the big granary that was now used as the location for the local farmers' market. No doubt Nick saw it as the ass end of nowhere, but to Judy it was familiar. It was what her life had been for a long time, and it wasn't very hard to give herself back over to it. She was ready for a busy Saturday after the relative monotony of farm work.

It was the third farmers' market of the season. They happened every two weeks or so. More often if there hadn't been a lot of rain, if the roads were easy to use, and if the growing was fine. If it was raining a lot, or if there were relatively low yields amongst everyone, it could be a month in between the events. Judy wasn't sure how it was all organized, but it was really the busiest town ever got. She guessed that was how you knew you lived in a small town; when the farmers' market on Saturday mornings was the most exciting thing that happened during the year. With the exception of the Harvest Days Festival, of course. It was days like this when you truly realized how many folks lived in and around Bunnyburrow, when you realized that bunnies really had a problem keeping their hands off each other. The crowds were astonishing.

Nick pointed this out as they set up their table for the morning and afternoon, as they carried her parents' hefty sign and bulky tablecloths to their sales booth. Once they had their signs hanging on the front of and behind their stand, they returned to the truck to get their first round of baskets of produce and crates of preserves. Judy had three of the containers in her arms, jars clinking against each other with every step. A bunny around Judy's age walked past them as they were heading back to their stand. A mother, her litter of about ten kids, all of whom had to be at least six years old. Each were carrying their own loads of produce to wherever their area of the market was. Nick elbowed Judy in the side, basket of carrots balanced in the crook of his arm looking like it was in extreme danger of crashing down to the ground. He nodded towards the mother and her big family.

"You all know how to keep busy here, huh?"

She laughed loudly. The inappropriate comment was unexpected, and also a little uncomfortable. She would have smacked his arm, if she didn't have crates of jam to carry. Addie would kill her if she broke all the jars she had painstakingly filled in a single steamy afternoon. Addie had spent hours in the kitchen, sweating over boiling pots and sealing all the jars she was either going to sell or store in one of the pantries. She came out that night for dinner, fur frazzled and smelling very strongly of wax and damp, but satisfied at a job well done. Canning was hard work. Her older sister did not often get angry, but Judy thought ruining her hard work would definitely be one thing to set her off. She just shook her head, got all her giggles out, and pushed her shoulder into Nick.

"You may have noticed," she said. "But there isn't much to do in Bunnyburrow."

"Except that?" He nodded once more at the hoard of children.

"Except that," she agreed. He grinned in that way he had that made Judy realize why her mother thought the fox had ill intentions. His eyes hooded, teeth glinting in a way that was simultaneously charming and wicked. A sight to see. Tail swaying, shoulders shaking the slightest bit from suppressed laughter, he led the way to their booth.

Judy wasn't entirely sure why her parents had allowed them to open for the market. She had been allowed to do it once, without their supervision. Before she left for the Academy, some sort of last ditch effort to get her to stay in Bunnyburrow and give up on her dream of being a cop. That hadn't worked, obviously. It wasn't that much fun to be handed responsibility for the family's income, especially not when you're fresh out of community college. Judy had had a BA in Criminal Justice under your belt, and she had been ready to go change the world. There was no time for selling vegetables when her dreams were waiting! She appreciated that her parents thought her trustworthy enough to manage the stand, then and now. She knew she was a dependable child. What confused her about the arrangement was that they allowed Nick to tag along.

It wasn't because they were trying to keep Nick away from her. They seemed to have given up on that initiative. It was just bad business sense. No one would willingly say that they had a problem with a predator working at the Hopps produce stand. Gideon Grey had the best baked goods out of any of the vendors there, and always had a crowd in front of his table. Travis Vizele, another childhood bully of Judy's, had a booming peanut business. Irma and Lyle Belette sold the most delicious clover honey in the tri-burrow area, and they were a pair of stoats. None of their sales suffered at the market. Maybe it was that Nick was a strange face, or that he gave off a definite city vibe with his bright tee shirt and reflective shades. Maybe it was that he seemed too sly when he smiled at potential customers. Whatever the case was, Judy noticed that more and more people were passing their stand by. The Hoppses grew the best rhubarb in Bunnyburrow, and their apples, as well as their rutabaga, were hard to beat (surprisingly, their carrots were not exceedingly good). But bunnies were still walking past Judy and Nick, buying their root vegetables from the Cottons, or the Hoovers. Her neighbors would lock eyes with her, purse their lips, and go on to buy their bunches of rhubarb from someone else.

June Snoutherland came up to her around nine o'clock, two piglets in tow. Why was it that everyone Judy's age was having children? She couldn't understand. June had been pretty in high school, in a piggy sort of way. Soft ears and snout that upturned in a way that had a nine year old Lee enraptured a few years ago. Judy thought motherhood suited the pig well, softening out her edges, making pleasant lines around her eyes. Judy immediately retracted her complimentary thoughts when the pig had the gall to lean forward and say in a stage whisper, "I couldn't believe your parents took on a fox as a hand, I had to come see it for myself!" She laughed. "Have you all locked up your valuables? Do you let him in the house?"

They didn't let him in the house. That was all she could think, that the pig was right. That she herself had been right, about the ignorance Nick would have to face if he stayed with her. Blame, blame, blame. Judy laughed weakly, asked June if she wanted any rhubarb— half price! The pig said no, and maybe she saw something hard in Judy's eyes, because she trotted away fairly quickly, with a vague and hard-to-believe offer to stay in touch. Judy whipped her head around to see where Nick was. How he had reacted.

Nick didn't notice. Or at least, he pretended not to. She could only imagine what was running through his head after a display like that. Judy could tell that it bothered him. Maybe the tiny slights more than the outright ignorance from June. Over the course of the morning, Nick didn't speak with any of the customers who came up to purchase things unless he deemed it absolutely necessary. He sat in a metal folding chair, arms crossed, looking balefully out to the world, his eyes covered by sunglasses. Blocking out his hurt, or maybe just his disdain. He kept a respectful distance away from Judy. She valued the gesture, but somewhat wished he would just ignore all the suspicious looks and hold her hand, or maybe dip her down and just kiss her in front of all her neighbors. Whatever she wished, Nick just stayed back with the produce, carrying up whatever people asked for, and loading it into their bags or their awaiting arms.

"I almost wish the cavalry would come in," he told her.

"What's that?"

"The teeming mass of your siblings, Carrots. A shift change."

"It's not that bad, Nick. We haven't been here that long."

He laughed, but there was no humor it. "Not bad for you, maybe."

Judy stiffened in her seat, looked straight ahead. After seeing Nick being shunned the whole morning, witnessing prejudice at a scale she never really expected from her hometown, that little comment and the dry laugh that followed was too much. She hated this. She hated how Nick was so adamant about staying, even when he was constantly judged and maybe even hated by the mammals around them. How he was willing to it all for her. More pain occurring on her behalf, more guilt settling on her shoulders. It was tiring, and frustrating, and she wasn't worth it.

Two weeks of bliss, it seemed, was all she was allowed. Ignoring what was going on around her, she was able to be happy. But she couldn't live life with stars constantly in her eyes, it was always necessary to come back to earth. Reality was harsh, and in this bustling market, it was impossible to ignore. Despite how much Judy had grown, and how open her mind had become, the rest of the world had not moved along with her. There was ill feeling between predators and prey, despite the baby steps that were being made in Zootopia. Nick was the brunt of the town's little shows of hatred and distrust, and it was all because of her. Her big smile that helped her make a sale fell at Nick's words, and all the happiness she had been dwelling on for the past few weeks seemed to vanish into thin air.

Her face settled into something unpleasant and pained, though she willed it not to. She didn't want Nick to see. Judy was fine with Nick talking about his feelings and his experiences. He was inherently good, no matter what he had been through or what he had become as a result of it. Judy was the opposite. She had been good, but now there was something foul and bitter-tasting about her. The things she had been through bred black thoughts , and that ill feeling seeped into every corner of her mind and her person. She felt like a polluted thing, sometimes. When things were especially bad. Something soiled and ruined and thrown out. She wasn't a hero, she didn't feel like a good person. Not in Zootopia, and not here, in this market surrounded by mammals who had no idea of the extent of her failings. There was a rising of something in her throat while her ears drooped and her shoulders sagged. These thoughts always came at the worst of times. A llama family walking past the Hopps Family Farm stand caught a glimpse look and trotted away rather quickly, hooves on their children's' shoulders, steering them away. She didn't even mourn the loss of the potential sale.

"You didn't have to come," she said. Judy wasn't talking about the farmer's market.

Neither was Nick.

"Now, Judy?" He asked. Loudly. Several shoppers looked up from their business curiously.

"I can't help it," she replied miserably. She dropped her voice into a whisper, could feel him lean in closer to hear above the din of the market's crowd. She made herself loosen up, made her shoulders relax and her eyes soften into something softer and kinder. She didn't want any talk about herself, and certainly not any talk about Nick's reaction to whatever she did. "Don't make a scene, Nick."

"Why not?" He asked, just as quietly as her. He was carefully controlling his volume, was probably planning out his words meticulously so that he wouldn't hurt her feelings. Judy didn't know if she appreciated this or if it just made her angry. "Everyone is already looking at me funny. Let's give 'em a show."

There it was. It just made her angry. Frustrated, depressed, something like that. Something bad. Judy didn't respond to the tease, and the shoddy facade of fine she had built up crumbled. She hunched into herself. Judy dreamt wildly of being the folding chair she was sitting on. Ugly metal, uncomfortable and unwelcoming. Then Nick would never approach her. No one would approach her. Cold, hard, rigid. Unfeeling. She wished she was unfeeling. "I'm sorry," she said.

"What? Carrots, I'm only joking. Please. There's nothing wrong." He kept his voice low. She was angry. She didn't say anything. She had lots of words, but they were old and tired ones she had used before. Nick knew she felt culpable for nearly everything that had happened between now and Starkey. He knew she was adamant in this respect. She wished she wasn't. Judy wished she could shed this weight and laugh at Nick's jests like she had been able to ten minutes ago. Judy knew how Nick would respond. He would tell her that there were ways to get past this sort of thing. That she shouldn't blame herself. That wasn't just a conscious decision, even if Nick seemed to think so. Judy had a desire for happiness, to live in a better world. But that was hard to do when you blame yourself for a literal death. Or when you blame yourself for every tiny little bad thing that happens to the people you care about. It was unreasonable, the way she felt, the way she shifted all the blame onto herself. She couldn't stop, though. She couldn't change the way her emotions flowed and bled together. Though recently, they did not even flow. They were just a heavy, lead weight in her belly.

She kept her eyes in her lap. Still, she saw his dark paw reach forward out of the corner of her eye. He was going to rest his paw on her shoulder. She scooted her chair over a few inches. An unpleasant screeching noise as the metal slid across the floor, and Nick's paw was just hovering over midair. He got the message and withdrew it quickly.

"My dad and a few of my younger sisters are walking over around lunch. We can go home then."

Nick took in a deep breath, but he did not use it for any of his powerful words. He just blew it out forcefully through his nose. If Nick had been the type to tut in disappointment, he would certainly have been doing it.

"We can discuss it later," he told her. Quietly. Not making a scene.

Judy nodded, and heard him walk away, rather than saw it. Her eyes were still in her lap. He could have just been walking to the other end of their booth, or to the back to grab more boxes or baskets. He could have been strolling to the other end of the building. Judy had told many a praise of Gideon Grey's blueberry scones, and he might have been checking them out for himself. Nick could have been walking straight out the door, sunglasses on his snout and hands shoved into his pockets. Walking like he had a secret. Leaving Judy. It was what needed to happen, she felt that truth within her bones. Yet then, she felt like breaking if she thought about Nick leaving. Cracking right down the middle. He didn't belong in Bunnyburrow, but Judy felt more than one truth in the deepest part of her: she wanted to be with Nick. There was a conflict in her thoughts, and she honestly was not sure which way the scale would tip.

A little bit after noon, Stu ambled into the market, a string of Judy's younger siblings in tow. He did not understand the gravity of the situation. Judy felt a desperate need to get out. She needed to go out to the truck, lock herself into the cab, and weep. She needed to go outside and sit in the grass and not feel a single thing. She needed to walk and walk down one of their dirt roads until she forgot who she was and why she was. She had a fake smile on her face and Nick behind her shoulder, for _hours_ , and she felt like screaming. Or braining herself with one of Addie's jam jars. She had felt at peace that morning, happy. Five hours at the farmer's market and she was feeling almost as bad as she had when she first showed back up in town, nearly four months ago in April.

She was going to go to her herb garden and bury her head in the dirt.

It was crowded in the booth with two adult bunnies, one grown fox, a hoard of screaming, giggling brothers and sisters, and all of Judy's guilt. Crushing. Big and wet and heavy. Nick had walked many of the kids to their Bunny Scout meetings throughout his stay, and he greeted them all solemnly with their name and a fist bump. Nick made efforts to work himself into life on the farm. He was comfortable, and he insisted to Judy that he was happy. He had woven himself into her life. So why was she so miserable? And how could she get him to leave, when that was what he needed? Stu asked Judy how sales were going, and she babbled something about jam and bored her eyes into the back of Nick's head. She glared holes into his skull for a while, half-listening to her dad, finding it in herself to smile once the fox finally turned around.

"Ready to go?" he asked. He was smiling too, but it was not like Judy's smile of relief at finally getting out. His smile was sharp, and maybe even dangerous. It meant business. It was not malicious, but it was calculating, and falsely cheery. Maybe even charming. Nick wasn't going to like what she had to say.

Both of them seemed to be employing Bogo's way of interrogation lately. Letting the accused sit and stew in whatever they were thinking, until they broke down and told you everything. Nick sat patiently, rocking along with the ruts in the dirt road, smiling vaguely whenever Judy messed up with her gear shift and made the truck stall. Judy knew exactly what she needed to say, but couldn't get them out. There was no voice in her throat, just a lump that refused to go down, no matter how hard she swallowed. Eventually, Nick could not put it off any longer. If they went down the bend in the next road, the farmhouse would be in sight. He needed to act, if he wanted to get Judy to talk in the privacy of the cab.

"Pull over," he said.

Judy pulled over. One of their own fallow fields was to her left, a stretch of the Cottons' corn crop on the other side of the road. She took her paw off the gear shift and placed it on the steering wheel. She looked straight ahead. Nick didn't do the Nick thing, which would be putting himself in her line of vision, regardless of how she felt about looking at him. As far as she knew, he was looking straight ahead as well. Tracking the same vaguely goat-shaped cloud with his eyes across the sky. She breathed slowly through her nose.

"I think you should leave," she said slowly.

"No." He said it immediately. No question.

"Don't lie to me. I know that bothered you, Nick!"

"Sure, it did. But I've had worse. At least the pig didn't say it to my face."

Judy hit her paw against the steering wheel. Momentarily distracted. "The nerve of her! I can't believe she would say something like that."

"I could. That sort of talk is guaranteed from anyone who dresses their kids that way."

Judy considered the excessive camouflage the piglets had been wearing, and conceded his point, though not out loud. "I know it bothered you."

"So I should leave, then? One comment from one ignorant little pig?"

"It wasn't just the swine. Everything. The microaggression, the subtle way most everyone steered clear of our stand. That wasn't normal, and I know it's because you were there."

"You think my mug is that ugly, Carrots? That mammals would just steer clear of us? Harsh."

Judy turned to look at him. "Take this seriously, please. I don't think it's good for you to be here."

He looked at her paws, the top of her head, her shoulder. Not her eyes. "What happened?" He asked. She watched him swallow. "I thought we…" He didn't need to finish. She knew what he meant.

She just repeated herself. "I think you should leave."

"Do you really feel that way? Judy, I'll leave if you don't want me here."

She felt like tearing out pawfuls of her fur. "It doesn't matter what I want. It's just the best thing for you."

"And you get to decide that?" She didn't answer. "Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why do you want me to go so badly?"

"Because it's awful here. There's mean mammals and there's prejudice and there's dirt and it's not something you should have to expose yourself to. You shouldn't feel obligated to do it."

"I'm not obligated! Judy, I l—"

"No. I know you feel obligated, because we're friends, we were partners, and maybe there was the possibility of something more. But I don't think it's the greatest idea to pursue that. I think for you to be happy, you need to not be here."

"Why do you think you can dictate what my happiness is? You did this before, and I experienced one of the worst months of my life, Judy. I don't think you're the best judge on this subject. I think you should let me decide on my own."

"You're blinded by this… image of me, I guess. Nick, think of yourself, and not me. Where would Nick Wilde be happiest?"

"Right here."

"No—"

"With you."

"Damn it!" She shouted, slapping the dashboard with a force that surprised her. It wasn't that Judy didn't curse. But she didn't hit things, and she didn't shout obscenities at mammals she cared about. Nick certainly looked taken aback. "Not me! Stop! Are you even listening to me? Not on me." The fox just looked at her, and she pressed forward, helplessly. "It's all my fault, and I'm _sick_ of it. I really care about you, and because of that, because of me, you're here. Going through all this terrible ignorance. For me. I brought it up earlier, and I let it go, because I'm… I'm weak, and I wanted you here with me. But I'm not worth it, and I think you need to go. I don't want that blame, too. I've got enough."

He looked incredulous. "You can't be serious."

"What?" She asked, angrily. She didn't feel any venom, though. Mostly she just felt empty. Cracking. "Don't joke right now, Nick."

"Here's a question: who is blaming you?"

"You."

"Never," he said. "Never, I'm serious. I have nothing to blame you for."

"You quit your job because of me. You left your home because of me. You put up with backbreaking labor because of me. You deal with my family because of me. You listen to prejudice every day because of me, and experience it every day. Because of me." She raised an eyebrow. "I could go on."

"None of that matters."

"How does none of it matter? How can you not blame me for any of that?!"

"Because you're my friend. Because I love you."

She looked at him. He had taken off his sunglasses so he could look her in the eye. She saw no lies there, and that scared her a little bit. She was caught off guard, but only for a second. Her voice wavered, but she kept going. "That doesn't change a single thing! I am still the reason for all of that! All the things I just said. I cause you all this pain. How can you say that?"

"You want me to explain it? I can't. I care about you, and I'm willing to make sacrifices so I can keep caring about you."

"That's really stupid." Judy shook her head. "No, that doesn't make any sense to me."

"What doesn't make sense?" He asked softly.

She loved him. But it wasn't what was best for him. It wasn't the best for her, either.

"Love is give and take. You're just giving, and I'm just taking, and that's not how that works."

"Okay, sure, but that's exactly how it works. Right now, you need to take. And I'm willing to give. I've definitely taken while we've been together. Took your trust and I mangled it. I took your sadness and gave you nothing in return, no support. I took your lie before you left and I savored it. More than I should have. I've taken your patience. I strung you along for a while there, you got to admit. Not saying a word. I took your kindness and acceptance, told you about dad and all. Listen. Judy, you aren't looking at me." She wasn't. It was hard to look at him, easier to look out the window or at her lap. She lifted her head and looked at him. Her lip started to wobble, but she didn't look away. She would listen to Nick. "This is hard for me, too. But that's why I can stomach all this, why that stuff this morning didn't bother me. There will always be mammals like this, but I've got friends, and I got my family, and there's you. I don't need the world's approval to be happy."

"Just mine?"

"You're starting to get it."

"No."

He sighed. "What is so hard to understand?"

"You don't blame me. But that's not the whole thing."

"Judy, that _is_ the whole thing! I don't blame you for anything, who else could blame you in this situation?"

"Me. I blame myself, Nick."

"What? For what?"

"Gosh, I don't know. How about the terrible consequences from every single thing I've done to you and myself since I decided to come here?"

"None of those are terrible."

"You're just trying to be contrary, now."

"No, everything that's happened has been for a reason. A good reason." He groaned. "I sound like a greeting card. I mean, you came out here to get better. Nothing wrong with that. Every issue that has sort of bloomed from that has been resolved. Or is being resolved right now, currently."

"Just because we talk it over doesn't mean it's resolved."

"So what, all this is for nothing? Because not discussing it worked out so well before."

"No, I mean, it helps. But it doesn't completely fix all our problems just by talking about them."

"You can't expect to fix _everything_ up perfectly, Judy. That is just unreasonable."

She huffed out a breath, low and slow. "I get that. I'm trying to do this in baby steps."

"Maybe in theory. In practice, it seems like you're just trying to make it all better in one huge leap."

Judy was sure it seemed like a huge step to Nick. But that was because her plans were all nebulous. She was going to get better out here. She was going to grow little stubby plants in her garden, and she was going to soak her bones in dirt and sun and rain. She was going to try and forget. When this all would happen, and how, was unclear. Judy knew it would happen, though. It didn't need to happen quickly. She saw why the fox saw her as hasty. With Nick there, these plans seemed a little weak. Everything was close and immediate, and needed to be figured out, because he wasn't going to be there forever, regardless of what he said. She wanted things to be all sorted before he was gone, though she was not entirely conscious of this desire to finish it all off quickly. That was why she had tried to get him to talk, why she had been so eager to ignore reality in favor of butterflies in her stomach and a tingling in her palms whenever Nick was close.

She thought about what all Nick had told her, really thought about it. She had no reason to distrust him. He had been cagey at first, sure, but for the most part, he had been up front with her his whole time on the farm. The last time he had really lied to her was when he let her think he was just a dad buying some ice cream. She wanted herself to believe that he was willing to stay. She needed to believe that Nick was in it for the long haul, that he truly cared about her, and would not drop her just because she was being or difficult, or because she was feeling empty. She could not force her brain to believe a certain way. But she was willing to try, instead of just thinking about how impossible it would all be.

"I'm going to try," she told him.

"Try what?"

"I'm not going to blame myself anymore." It was easier said than done, but it was worth a shot. She wanted to be happy, and she wanted Nick. She didn't want to be incapacitated by the whims of her heart anymore. She would not forget everything that had happened to her. Her experiences with the ZPD, with Starkey and the death of Poppy Glenn, they had shaped her into the rabbit she was, and there was no ignoring that. But she would try to keep those experiences from shaping her every decision and every feeling. There was more to her life. She had a new type of work, and a new set of coworkers. Busy, loud, and nosy coworkers who were obtrusive and maybe just a bit too ignorant, but family was family. That was her life now. And then she had Nick. She was in the rolling green fields of her home, not the streets of any city. She could not let the city rule her every move anymore. She would try to keep it from doing that.

Nick shook his head. "There's that big leap again."

Judy wished she could articulate every thought in her head to words. But Nick would have to be fine with the little she was able to say. She would show her decision in her actions, not just through empty words. She was tired of speaking empty words, making vague promises to herself that she would never keep.

"I'm going to try, Nick."

"I'm glad," he said.

There wasn't anything more to say. She was going to try and keep herself from being a puppet that her emotions held the strings to. Judy would try to control what she felt, rather than giving herself blindly over to whatever wave overwhelmed her at any given moment. There would be a little reason now in her heart to dampen whatever rose up in her and threatened the little happiness she was trying to build up. And that would have to be enough. If all else failed, she would have Nick. He didn't have any plans to leave her, not any time soon.

"I'm really happy that you're here."

He looked at her like he didn't believe it. She would prove him wrong. "You won't try to make me leave, then?" He asked.

"No, of course not. I can't make you do anything you don't want." She shrugged, and ducked her head. She definitely knew what the fox wanted now. She had not forgotten what he had said in the heat of their little argument. "I'm not the only stubborn one in this cab. So I'll just enjoy this. Whatever it turns into."

He smiled, and slid his sunglasses back on. He turned away from her in his seat and faced the windshield. "You want to get the truck started again? It's kind of miserable to just sit in here without any wind or air conditioning."

She turned the key in the ignition, and got her paw on the gear shift again. She would have a lot of time to get used to all of this. The manual driving, and whatever it was she was having with Nick. She could not let his every little action get to her, let it rule her totally. He would hurt, and he might be uncomfortable out in the country, but Judy would try to not blame herself for it. She would try her best, and she would appreciate every little thing the fox did to show his care for her. Judy would make herself value the loving gestures more than the ones that showed his hurt. Nick almost immediately put his paw over hers on the gear shift. It was only a minute drive from where she had parked next to the fallow field to the house, but he really wanted that touch. She wanted it too.

Once she got the truck parked in front of the house, he drew away. That was only so he could grab her paw again as they walked to the farmhouse. Some of her siblings were playing in the yard, others were in the fields. A few were in town, and everyone else was in the house. They climbed the steps up to the front steps together, feet going up the well-worn stoop in something approaching unison.

Judy didn't drop his paw as they walked through the door.


	13. Chapter 13

They had been waiting on the train platform for a while. Judy had insisted on being early, and herded the fox into their truck at dawn. She leaned against him, though being so close to him in the muggy heat already developing was unpleasant. She just wanted to be close.

Nick had yawned hugely several times that morning, drawing out the dramatics of the situation. If he had it his way, the fox would have taken the train leaving at three in the afternoon. He stretched his arms out and arched his back, his tongue curling in his mouth, eyes closing. He smacked his lips once he was done, drawing out the gesture. Judy just rolled her eyes at his playacting throughout the morning.

She dragged him out of bed, stood behind him as he brushed his teeth, pulled on clothes, and grabbed his overnight bag. They had a quick breakfast, and Nick said brief farewells to Judy's siblings who were already awake. Some were making food for everyone else, or already dusty from working outside that morning. He exchanged a few solemn fist bumps, and two hugs with a couple of her youngest siblings. Nick had been their chaperone to Bunny Scouts, of course. Her mom was hunched over the stove, and her dad was probably still sleeping. Bonnie gave Nick a curt goodbye, quick not to show any emotion toward him, foul or fair. After Nick had revealed his plans to her parents a few nights before, both were being careful to be perfectly neutral towards him. Judy kissed her mom on the cheek, and gave Nick a thumbs up as she turned around. They were doing good. Making progress. It was exciting.

Then she had to pull Nick from his stool in the kitchen, had to grab his paw and tug him outside. "Geez, Carrots," he said. Yawning again, because Nick Wilde was nothing if not a drama queen. "A guy would think that you _want_ him to leave."

She opened the passenger door of the truck and threw his bag into the cab. She threw herself in after. Nick climbed in much more sedately. She started the truck, and the engine roared. It was loud enough that she had to raise her voice to be heard over it.

"I want you to leave now so you can get back as soon as possible."

"Oh." He just smiled at her. Not able to come up with a good enough reply to her statement. She was unbeatable, though it was, of course not a competition. Judy may have just been flattering herself, but she felt like it was a very heartfelt thing for her to say. Better than something the fox could have come up with at five in the morning. Again, not a competition. She still mentally patted herself on the back as Nick put his arm around her shoulder. There was a smile on her face as she drove the truck onto the road, on her way to take Nick back to Zootopia.

There was a reason for her to smile. A few days ago, Nick and Judy had been seated on the front porch. It was hot and muggy outside, but even worse inside. Though the farmhouse had air conditioning, the constant press of bodies made it seem very humid and miserable, all the time. So they were on the porch, after dinner, plastic cups of lemonade that Davie had foisted upon them in their paws. It wasn't very good lemonade, completely awful, if Judy was being honest. It was the kind that came from a powdery mix, and Judy had clumps of the mix floating around in her cup. She drank it anyway, because it was something to cool her off, and something to keep her mouth busy. She had something to say, but she also liked sitting next to Nick in silence. There didn't need to be anything said, and that was a pleasant thing. They weren't the only ones on the porch, but she still laid her head on his shoulder. Or to be more accurate, his arm. He was a small mammal, but she was still smaller.

"I've been thinking," she said.

"Have you?" Nick asked. He put an arm around her. Her siblings were staring, and she was exceedingly glad that Lee thought it beneath her to go outside. "That's a dangerous pastime."

"I know." She took another sip of lemonade, making an unpleasant face as she had to choke down a clump of powder. Davie really should have mixed it better. She would tell him that later. "So, if you're staying long term, we should probably rethink living arrangements."

"Really? I kind of like our current situation."

"I mean, so do I."

That was an understatement. Judy _really_ liked it. In that hot, miserable space between July and August, the worst time to work on a farm, to be out in the fields all day, they had fallen together. It was a miracle, if Judy really thought about it. She just started spending more and more nights in Nick's loft, rather than her own bed. Nothing bad was going on. It was not that they were doing anything she wouldn't want to do in front of her grandmother. Well, anything between a fox and a bunny would be unforgivable to her grandmother. That was a bad example. It had just begun because she hated walking down on the old threshing floor once the sun went down. She was always tripping over things and walking into old furniture. She was always hearing Nick laughing softly as she cursed loudly after walking straight into a refrigerator. He teased her endlessly about it. So, she just stopped leaving once it got dark.

They stayed up late talking, until a time where even Nick looked surprised when he checked the time on his phone. That was saying something. He cleared his throat and told her that she should probably get going. Judy shook her head, and told the fox that she was definitely going to be staying.

"What?" he had asked. "Here? The night?"

"Yeah," she said. Very casually, as if she had absolutely no guile. She had a lot of guile, both she and Nick knew it, but she would keep her plot under wraps as long as possible. "I brought a sleeping bag and everything."

His smile was slow and soft, and it made Judy feel very warm inside. The jig was up. She smiled at him too, when he said, "You sly bunny! You planned this. Why?"

"Just wanted to spend more time with you."

He shook his head. "Nope, I don't believe it. You wanted to stop stubbing your toes."

She grinned. "That too."

So then, they were spending their nights and their days together. Her parents gave her tired, disapproving looks, but neither of them said anything to her once she stopped sleeping in her own bed. They kept quiet and just kept whispering to each other over breakfast, shaking their heads when she came to eat from the threshing floor, and not from her room in the burrows under the house. She bore the disapproval well, if not easily. Judy was sure they had their own ideas about what she was doing during her nights in Nick's loft, but there was nothing untoward going on. She just sat on her sleeping bag, or sometimes with her legs over the ledge of the loft, swinging them as she spent her evening hours with Nick.

They talked about everything, and nothing at all. Sometimes they just sat in silence, close enough to touch. They could touch now, and Judy felt like bursting every time their paws were joined, or when their legs rested on each other's. Nick would sing under his breath sometimes, and Judy knew he was happy. She didn't like his taste in music, but he was comfortable enough to hum the synth parts and tap his paws against his thighs to the rhythm of the drum machines whenever their conversations started dying down. He laughed in delight when she sang along, even though her voice was not anything approaching pleasant. She sometimes wished he would just grab her and kiss her, do more than just sit there and smile at her. Of course, that was always nice too. She liked the smiles.

It smelled strongly of hay, and of a fox who couldn't get into a shower often enough. She slept on the floor in her sleeping bag, came out every morning smelling like old hay. They walked to the house every morning for breakfast, paw in paw, and her family got used to it. Or at least, they never said anything about it. Nick was in her garden now, or they would be hanging around the machinery together while Nick checked the tire pressure, or whatever it was he did. They would climb up ladders together, picking fruit from the trees in the orchard and smiling at each other under the slightly green light that filtered through the leaves. It was hot and the air unpleasantly thick, but they sat practically on top of each other for lunch, outside in the grass, sharing a soda and a fair amount of smiles.

It was nice, spending all their time together. She was content, sometimes she was even happy. She made an effort to stop blaming herself every time anything besides a smile crossed Nick's face. It was made easier when her family didn't say anything about them being together. They might shake their heads, exchange looks whenever Judy dared show affection to the fox within their presence, but they didn't say a word. They didn't go back into town. It was fine. Nick never complained, he said all he needed was on the farm. Because Judy was on the farm. He could be sweet, when he tried to be. She wondered vaguely if he would be happier not in Bunnyburrow. If she would be happy too.

She hardly ever had nightmares anymore, but when she did, there was comfort waiting when she woke up. It wasn't just a room full of sleeping siblings who had no idea why she was waking up in cold sweat, a scream caught in her throat. Bloody body parts floating around in her head, neatly-groomed moles following her down dimly-lit city streets that never seemed to end. Now, there was Nick. She wasn't alone anymore. He knew what had happened, and he knew what to when he woke up to the sound of her crying in her sleeping bag. He would call out to her in a voice made gruff by sleep, or just walk over and pull her out, drawing him to his mattress, to his arms. It didn't fix things to be held by him, or to wake up with the smell of him in his nose, but it made her feel better. Much better.

Yet it still wasn't enough. There was something missing, and she thought she had a solution.

Nick looked at her over his glass of lemonade, back on the porch.

"So what is there to say about it?"

"I think you should ask my parents if you can move into the house."

He didn't spit out the lemonade in her face at the groundbreaking statement. At least, she thought it was pretty groundbreaking. A good time for dramatics, but he passed it off. He just nodded slowly.

"I had been thinking about it," he said. "It would be nice to have air conditioning."

"Really? Great! Why don't you go ask them right now? My dad is usually in a good mood after eating, and mom is—"

"Carrots, hit the pause button for a second. I mean… You really think I should breach this subject with them? They don't like me that much."

"That's not true, they just— they think… They think you have untoward intentions."

"'Untoward'?" He asked. "What does that even mean?"

She spread her paws, or at least, as best as she could while holding a plastic cup of lemonade. "I don't know. I mean, I don't know."

"I'm a predator?" He shook his head, amended his statement. Judy sunk down in her seat, wished he would lower his voice. "A fox?"

"Forget I said anything," she said dully.

"No, no, no," Nick said quickly, holding his paws out, nearly dropping his cup of lemonade. "Don't, Judy. It's fine, I'm here. It's just, the mammals here!"

Judy shook her head. "No, don't lump in my parents with my neighbors, or with whatever else you've encountered here. It's not because you're a predator."

"Then what is it?"

She grimaced, scratched the back of head.

"There's this photo," she began. Looked down into her lumpy lemonade. "Lee found it, Mom grilled me about it. That's why they don't feel that good about you."

He raised his eyebrows. "What kind of picture would do something like that?"

She bit her lip. "It was from him."

Judy didn't need to specify for Nick to know what she was talking about, who she was talking about it. "What? Why would you _keep_ something like that?"

"It was nice to look at. It wasn't like the others."

He was at a loss for words. "Wh— What? It was from him! Why would you keep it?"

"It was nice to look at," she said, defensively. She hated that she had to defend the picture, but it really was nice to look at. It made her feel less lonely, for a time. She wondered what her mother did with it. If she could get it again. Maybe she could personalize Nick's loft, pin up all the pictures she had brought with her from the city. Bring Zootopia to Bunnyburrow.

He scoffed. "Yeah, okay. Whatever you say. What about it made your parents so freaked?"

"Um." Judy was suddenly embarrassed. She didn't know why. She had spent the last few nights in Nick's arms, she should have had no problem explaining the one thing Starkey had done to her that wasn't still plaguing her. But they, in the picture, were doing the one thing she and Nick still hadn't done. She was self-conscious. She chewed on her lip some more, and wouldn't meet Nick's eyes. "It was the two of us. I don't know," she eventually said.

"No way." She couldn't see Nick, but she could hear the grin in his voice. And then she could see him smile, when he put his paw under her chin and tilted up her face. Though she had just mentioned her ordeal, or whatever she could call it, she found herself smiling back at him, shyly. Starkey was forgotten. It was just them."Tell me about it."

"What? No!"

"Hey, you can tell me anything."

He was right. Judy swallowed. "I mean, okay, when the picture was taken, I was sobbing and leaking mucus all over you. It was that first night after I started getting them? But you couldn't see that, from the angle he took… the angle the picture was taken in. It was in an empty parking lot, and we were in the same seat of the car, and your arms around me, and my head is, like, against your neck."

"So…" He let the word drag on and on, tilting up his head. He dropped his paw from her chin, finally. She silently mourned the loss of contact. "They totally thought we were making out?"

He surprised a laugh out of her. Judy was very puzzled that she could be so happy, talking about such a horrible time. "What are you, twelve?"

"Yes." He smiled. Nick was always smiling more, now. She wondered if it was because he liked being on the farm, or if it was because of her. She knew being out here was helping her, but had been curious if it was helping Nick out as well. At any rate, he was in good humor at the moment. Always smiling. "So if I tell your parents that I wasn't ravishing you, or whatever it is they think I was doing, I can stay in the house?"

She laughed again. "Yeah, something like that."

"Alright." He stood up, passing her his lemonade. She looked inside the cup: it was just as lumpy as hers. He hid his disgust well, she noted. "Wish me luck, then."

"Wait, you're going now?"

"Uh, yeah. Imagine with me, Carrots: I can take a shower, whenever I want. I can sit in air conditioning, and I will never smell like old hay again. I'm going to do this as soon as possible."

"Sounds great, Nick, but don't you think you should prepare something?"

"Nope, I'm gonna wing it."

"But—"

"Nuh-uh." He held up his paws, capable of communicating with them now that he wasn't holding the offensive cup of lemonade. "Judy, don't worry about it. It's not going to be complicated, I'll just let them know what's actually going on between us."

"Maybe don't let them know that."

He bent slightly at the knees, leaning towards her. He held out a paw in a gesture like disbelief. Incredulous. "Judy, I'm sure they think worse things are going on than just us, what, holding paws? Hugging you after you had a nightmare? I'll let them know what the deal is, tell them I'd like to stay long term, and we'll figure it out."

She started to stand up. "Do you want me to come with you?"

"I'm a big boy, Carrots. I think I can handle it."

"Okay," she said, as he walked inside. "If you say so."

As it turned out, Nick was right. She didn't need to worry. He disappeared into the house for maybe thirty minutes, and came out talking about a train ticket. Nothing else. He didn't give her time to say anything about him being able to stay out here, in the house. He just started talking about the train.

When he came to Bunnyburrow, he had just brought a little overnight bag. A few shirts, two pairs of pants, a phone charger. He didn't even have a toothbrush. He wanted to go back to Zootopia, see if any of his stuff was still in his apartment, or with his landlord. Maybe stuffed in some crevice in Finnick's van. In his locker at the ZPD, though he didn't mention that to Judy. He needed more things to wear, since he didn't want to keep doing his laundry every five days, or be stuck wearing smelly clothes. Judy hoped he would bring some of his customary button ups, though they weren't practical for farm work. Even a ZPD shirt. She was tired of him wearing all his new wave band shirts, and singing their songs every time she commented on it. He had a nice singing voice, but she could only go through so many renditions of "Love Shack" before she wanted to hit him.

"Where do you even buy a ticket here?" He asked. He rubbed his jaw. He was thinking out loud more than he was talking to Judy.

She interrupted his thoughts, asking quietly, "You'll come back, right?"

He straightened up, cocking his head. Then, Judy knew it was a silly question. She knew his intentions. He made sure of that, kept her aware of it constantly. Nick knew about her doubts, and was quick to reassure her. He reminded her of it every time he took her paw, or every time he lowered his head to nose at her, hinting at something like a kiss on the cheek. He would stay, and he would follow her wherever she went. Even if she left. "What? Of course! What are you thinking?"

Then she allowed herself to smile.

And so, they were on Bunnyburrow's train platform, waiting for the six o'clock morning train to Zootopia. It was disgusting outside, and Judy hated August weather. She was still leaning against him, his arm wrapped around her waist. She didn't want him to, though she knew things would be better once he was back. He wouldn't leave. He would stay with her, and they would heal together. After this brief time apart, maybe she could stop wanting him to leave, and stop worrying that he would actually end up leaving. She could know that this was real. Her heart knew it was, of course, but her head needed that little reassurance. Once he was back, she would know. Almost like he knew she was overthinking it, Nick bent over and kissed the top of her head. She smiled hugely. It was the first time he had kissed her, any part of her. She kept smiling, even as the train pulled into the station.

The noise seemed a lot louder, this early in the morning. No one was getting off the train, not this early, not in Bunnyburrow. It was a marked difference from when Judy left Bunnyburrow for Zootopia. They were the only two mammals there, for one. Though her heart was full, it was a more sober affair. No huge family waving goodbye, calling out "I love you"s and running along the platform so they could keep their eyes on Nick. Just them. It was an empty station in which Nick, stepped away from Judy, and held her at arm's length.

"Here's looking at you, kid," he said.

She punched him in the arm. Then she hugged him, pressing her face against his chest. "I'm going to miss you," she told him.

"It's not a one way ticket, Carrots," he replied, smiling. "I'll be back by tomorrow."

"Yeah, I know." She looked down at her feet.

"Hey, Hopps, look at me." She wouldn't, not until he said, "Judy, come on. Look at me. I'll be back, I promise." He pulled her into a hug again, resting his snout on the top of her head. She tried her best to not melt into the touch.

"I know," she said. "I know it's just—"

"And I'll bring all my cassette tapes with me."

She laughed. She pushed her way out of his arms. "No. You wouldn't!"

"Oh yeah," he said. He was grinning, and backing up towards the train's doors. He slung his overnight bag over his shoulder. "All the Bat Benatar. Cyndi Flauper, the Mammal League, B-52s— see, the 'B' stands for 'Bear'—"

" _Stop_ , and get on the train," she called. She had to raise her voice to be heard now. Nick was a few yards away, and the train was loud. It was hard to stop herself from following him onto the train, going back to the city. It was tempting, and the feeling wasn't sudden. It had been creeping up, and now the option was open, and it was hard to resist. She still held herself back.

"Bye, Carrots!" He was on the train now, waving slightly, sarcastically, as the doors slid close.

She waved, and watched the train pull out of the station. "Goodbye," she said.

It was liberating to drive back home without Nick whining some song about being a waitress in a cocktail bar, but it was also lonely. It had been less than ten minutes since Nick had loaded himself on the train, and she was already sighing and missing him. She could go twenty four hours without him. In fact, she had gone twenty four years without him, and then around two months after that. Judy could do just fine. But she missed him, there was no question. She knew she was going to count down the hours until he returned. She was feeling so lonely by the time she got back to the farmhouse that she was almost glad to see her parents standing on the porch, looking very unhappy. Someone to talk to, because the thought of sitting alone in her garden made her eyes prick in the corners.

"We should talk," Stu said, once she was close enough to hear him.

"Here?" Judy asked.

"No," Bonnie said. "Goodness, where all your siblings can hear? We'll go to our room, and shut the door."

Judy raised her eyebrows, and agreed with a slight nod and a grimace. This was going to be a painful and uncomfortable conversation, she could already tell. Stu led the way to her parents' bedroom. Both of her parents kept shooting her disappointed looks over their shoulders, every one they had been keeping to themselves for the past few weeks. Her grimace did not lift. In fact, it only deepened as her parents sat her down on their bed and shut the door behind them. There was a sense of finality to it. Her mom crossed her arms, and her dad raised up a finger. She was about to get an earful.

"That fox," her father began, "is—"

"Nick," Judy said.

"What?"

"Nick Wilde. His name is Nick."

"Yes, okay, fine. Nick, we are letting him stay."

"Thanks."

"What?" Stu asked again. Bonnie elbowed him. "Yes, okay, well, don't thank me, Jude. We're letting him stay, but only as long as he works hard."

"Stuart."

He nodded, thankful for his wife's reminders. "Oh, yes, and only as long as you stop seeing him."

Judy put her head forward in frustration, put her paws on her thighs. Bit her lip. "We aren't together."

"What?"

"Oh, for cripes sake, Stu," her mom said. "Judy, don't lie to us. You spend all your time with him. Who knows what you two get up to at night? Don't act like we haven't noticed that you aren't sleeping in your bed anymore."

"Nothing is happening," Judy assured her parents. "What Nick told you was true."

"You're both adults," Stu said. His ears were distinctly droopy, as if the thought of his daughter being grown made him endlessly unhappy. "And you can both consent to… you know. We aren't brainless, Jude."

"I sleep in a sleeping bag. On the floor. I could show it to you. Nothing is going on!"

"That isn't what Nick told us," Bonnie said, with a raise of her eyebrows. But Judy didn't fall for the bait.

"I know that isn't true, mom. Now _you're_ lying to me."

Both of her parents sighed, putting their face into their paws in an identical gesture.

"Judy, first that picture. Then you what, _move in_ with him?"

They weren't going to believe her, no matter what she said. They assumed the worst about Nick, and they saw her as their impressionable young daughter. She couldn't convince them, even though she was twenty-six years old, even if she had seen more of the world than they ever had, or ever would. She switched tactics.

"Can't you just be happy for me?" She asked quietly.

Her parent's eyes immediately softened. "We want you to be happy, Judy—" her dad began.

"—But with a fox?" Her mom finished.

"What's so bad about it?"

"There's just… there's a stigma against it, Judy. And he's so much older than you! We do want you to be happy, we do."

"How am I supposed to believe that, when you're just adding to that stigma?"

Stu pulled off his hat, turning it over in his paws. "Judy—"

"Did you think all your kids were just going to turn out to be what you see as _normal_?" Judy asked. She mentally punched herself. This wasn't strategy. She was going out of control. She was just saying everything she had been feeling since… If she was being honest, since she had first started having feelings for Nick. That had been ages ago. More than a year, at least. It wasn't good to keep her feelings all inside, she knew this now. It was good that her parents were hearing this. "You guys, that's just unreasonable! I can't do that. Not every single one of us is going to settle down with another boring bunny and get married and birth even more boring bunnies so they can be here for the rest of their lives! Some of us want more than that!"

Bonnie blinked very quickly and erratically, and her dad looked even closer to tears. She couldn't think of the last time she had raised her voice at them. Judy knew they needed to hear it, though. They would have to deal with the raised voice, because she couldn't think of any other way to tell them.

"Baby?" Bonnie asked. "We thought you were happy here?"

"I am! I was." She groaned, threw her head into her paws. "I don't know," she said into them. It was true. All she knew was that she was happy with Nick. She chewed on the inside of her cheek, and considered a very hefty thought. That she would be happy with him, anywhere. At least, she would be content. And then she would try to be happy: Bunnyburrow, Zootopia. Even Podunk! It didn't matter. It was scary and exhilarating, all at once.

"That's not a good answer."

"I can't give a better one," Judy told her. "I don't know."

Her dad swallowed audibly, and spoke in a voice that was only slightly wobbly. "You're happy with him?"

"Yes."

"Then Bon," he said, turning to her mother, "I don't think we can ask him to leave."

Her mom sighed, and looked at Judy. She could feel her gaze, even with her head in her paws. She looked up. Bonnie sighed again. How could Judy feel so happy, and they could both feel so sad? It wasn't fair. Like a child, she suddenly wished the world was different. She wanted everyone in her life to be as content as she was when she was with Nick. "You know it won't be easy."

She almost rolled her eyes. "Mom, do you think I haven't thought about that?"

"I know you have. Just keep that in mind, while you…" She didn't finish her thought.

"I will."

Her dad smiled at her, and it was a watery thing. He didn't say anything, just placed a broad paw on her shoulder. Judy's nature to be ruled by emotions all came from her dad. He always felt strongly and overwhelmingly. Bonnie had always been the voice of reason, but she held herself back, just looked at her husband and her daughter. There was a lot going on in Stu's eyes when Judy looked at him, and she knew he saw the same stew of emotion in hers. But under the whole confusing mix, Judy could see one thing standing out. It looked a lot like goodbye.

It was a relief when she could get into the truck the next day and pick up Nick. It was boring to stand in her garden, to weed and look at all the stout, sturdy plants. It was tedious to walk up and down rows and rows of carrots, or potatoes, or kale. Every time her parents looked at her they looked sad, and Lee was eager to badger her and ask what it was that made them do it. She spent the night in the company of Addie, and in her own bed, and she didn't enjoy a single moment of it. She didn't know what had come over her. But suddenly, she wasn't enjoying Bunnyburrow. The routine wasn't distracting or something to find joy in. It was just boring. This had been sneaking up on her for a while, and it was overwhelming her now.

She had to keep herself from throwing herself at him as soon as he got off the train. With two suitcases. He was grinning, and he had his sunglasses on with one of his hideous tropical shirts.

"Miss me much?" he asked confidently, then laughing loudly as Judy failed in her mission to not throw herself at him. She wrapped her arms around his middle and dragged him further back onto the platform. He stumbled, but he still managed to keep hold of his suitcases.

"I hate your shirt," she said, into his chest. He responded with a kiss to the top of her head. Another one. Maybe this was another kind of casual touch they would begin to exchange. She couldn't wipe the grin off her face. She grabbed one of his suitcases, and started off towards the truck. Nick followed close behind, pulling his suitcase with one paw, the other on the small of her back. He didn't say anything to her, until she tried to throw his suitcase in the bed of the truck. He stopped her with a shout, then gleefully showed her what was inside the luggage, unzipping it with a flourish.

Cassette tapes. A whole pile of them. They listened to oldies on full blast the entire ride home.


	14. Chapter 14

Harvest was always a busy time for the Hopps family. Even on a relatively small farm, even with over two hundred pairs of rabbit paws to work the earth. It was work from sun-up to until well after the sun went down. There were always bunnies scurrying up and down the rows, climbing up ladders to pluck apples and plums from the boughs of the orchard trees. Or they were hunkered down in the dirt, resigned to the fact that the dirt on the knees of their jeans was never going to wash out.

An ungodly amount of of carrots were pulled out of the ground, packed into crates to be shipped to grocery stores in the area, or even to Zootopia itself. This was the most important time of the year, where the family made most of their profit off all the work they had been doing as early as February that year. Everyone who wasn't working outside was indoors, preparing food and bringing out water for everyone bringing in the harvest. They needed to stay hydrated and hardworking, in order to break in the highest yield in the shortest amount of time.

And for the first time, there was a fox helping to bring in the harvest. Perhaps it should have been something to be commented on, but he just fell in. There was no fanfare, and there didn't really need to be. Nick had found his place in the workings of the farm. He woke up every day in the farmhouse, relegated to a guest room that was usually reserved for her grandparents. Then he would join Judy for quick breakfast every morning. They would go out to the fields and work until there was absolutely no light to work by. Nick was in his tatty tee shirts and, scarily enough, cargo shorts, pulling up kale out of the ground and sticking shreds of it in his mouth when he thought no one was looking at him. Then making faces, when he realized kale was kind of disgusting. He kept eating it, anyway.

Judy hardly had time with the fox, but it wasn't because her parents were attempting to keep him away. They were fully delivering on their promise to let her pursue her happiness. She could spend all her time with Nick now, but there was too much work to do to take advantage of were so busy, it was hard to even find time to _eat_ during the day, forget about spending time with other mammals.

Every day she woke up, threw on clothes she was okay with getting filthy in, and helped bring the crops in. Swallowed down food quickly, quick enough that she could hardly taste it, helped bring the cops in, went to bed. Dreamt about bringing the crops in. Judy wondered if her siblings had always felt like this during harvest season. Crops on the brain, calculating the highest yield in her head when she should have just been counting sheep. It was distracting and time consuming, but suddenly that wasn't appealing anymore. She wanted to be doing something else.

It was easier when she was growing up on the farm, when she wasn't expected to actually do farm work. Her parents had always told her to not dream so much, but they still encouraged her in their own little way. They did not outright tell her to go out and try to become a police officer, but they threw her a bone every now and then.

She had been allowed to sit in the house, reading up on application processes, preparing herself for the college degree she was the first in her family to get, instead of being out in the sun all day. Her mom let her sit in the big kitchen to look over her textbooks, rather than squat in the dirt outside and pull up radishes. Judy could go on her runs in the mornings, do her pushups, and refresh the computer in the Sheeran sister's restaurant obsessively to see the response to her application to the Academy instead of joining her family outside. She was allowed to pursue her dreams while her siblings brought in the yield. But she was not spared from the work anymore. Judy was in the fields with the best of them.

She was wearing a baseball cap, and overalls. She looked uncomfortably like her dad in the getup. She was wiping dirt from her gloves onto her forehead, wishing she was somewhere else entirely. It wasn't as muggy as it was a month before, but it was still fairly hot. Miserable. Judy was exceedingly grateful once all the yield was brought in, when the fields were finally empty. No more crops, no more bunnies ducking between rows and squatting to dig potatoes out of the ground.

Just a bunch of sad looking stalks that still stood in their corn plot. A few large-ish pumpkins growing out by the house, as well. Potential candidates for biggest pumpkin at the upcoming county fair, the Harvest Days Festival. Most everything was stripped of its fruit, dead looking and scraggly. The trees in the orchard, as well as the few growing in between fields, were well on their way to having their leaves change. Her garden was still thriving, though only until frost started setting in within the next few weeks, once the rest of October rolled in.

Nick's gardening gloves weren't brand new, anymore. They had been stiff on his paws when they had first gone into town to get them, a terse and silent car ride there and back. But things were different now. They were well worn, covered in dirt, though not from lack of washing. The pair was at that point where no amount of dunks under the faucet would make them clean again. He didn't mind. He looked more comfortable with them now, and didn't even look disgusted when he dug his paws into the dirt, combing through it to look for grubs that would nibble on her herbs.

"You know," Judy said, smiling at him over her rosemary. Her hand was on her trowel, but Nick was much more interesting than gardening. "I think you would make a pretty good farmer."

"Ugh." He was wearing his sunglasses, but she knew the look he was giving her. "How dare you?"

Laughing, she reached forward to clasp his arm. He didn't wrinkle his snout at the dirt on his fur, but he still knocked away her paw. He had important work to do, looking for those grubs. It was like they had switched places. Judy had been obsessed with this little plot, but now she could easily be pulled away from it. She wanted to hear what Nick had to say.

"Just stating my opinion." She spread her paws, waving her trowel through the air. She decided to compliment him. "Of course, my opinion can often be translated into fact. I once told you you would make a good cop, and I was definitely right about that. I'm rarely wrong."

"Pfft." His fingers pinched something out of the soil, and he put it in a cup next to him. Weevils were disgusting things, and Judy was glad Nick had volunteered to get them, leaving her to mess around in the dirt and listen to every word that came out of his mouth. "I don't think so. You also thought practicing your disappearing act on me was a good idea, Carrots."

That particular barb hardly stung anymore. Some time had passed, and Judy found it did not bother her as much as it did in May. It was early October, and she was okay. She saw that Nick was just teasing her, and that he was not necessarily angry with her. It was like before, when he would tease her just to see her tap her feet or twitch her nose in irritation. She bore the jab well, bowing her head in defeat. "Okay, okay. You got me there."

"And, besides," he said. "You were always the better cop."

She rubbed the handle of her trowel, distractedly. "If you say so."

"I know so," Nick told her.

Judy looked up at him, and caught him looking at her as well. The dirt and the crawlies living in it were not as interesting as her, it seemed. There was something in the air between them that wasn't there before, at the mention of their past. Judy had to address it. The thought had been on her mind for a few weeks, something slight and vaguely threatening on the horizon. "Do you ever think about going back?" She asked quietly.

"All the time," he answered easily, honestly. "But you're here, so here's where I'll stay."

"I think about going back, too," she said. Judy spoke like she was in confession, hushed and slightly embarrassed. Like she had something to be ashamed of. If Nick was surprised at her words, he didn't show it. He just smiled, raised his eyebrows, and turned back to the pests.

"Take your time," was what he said. They worked quietly for a few minutes, both stuck inside their own heads. Judy had her trowel in her paw, but she did nothing with it. After a while, Nick looked up from his little patch of dirt. "What will happen to all these plants?"

Judy was taken aback, his mention of leaving so soon. Hadn't he been telling her that he would be staying here? No matter what, is what he had said. She blinked slowly, the idea terrifying and exhilarating all at once. "When we leave?"

"What? No! When the frosts set in. Addie was telling me about it."

"You talk to Addie?"

"Oh yeah, sometimes. Can you imagine if _you_ were the only mammal I talked to while I was here? Now, that's a scary thought." He grinned at her expression. She was glaring daggers at him beautifully. Nick did not see a threat in it, though. "Anyway, the seasons don't really change in Zootopia, since the climate is all artificially generated. And that's all I've ever known. So, what do we do with all your plants once it gets cold? Do we just let them die?"

"No, they won't die in the cold. They'll just go to sleep for a while."

He raised an eyebrow. "They aren't animals, Carrots. They can't sleep."

"They can sleep! Or we can repot them, stick them in a window sill for the winter."

Judy thought about what it would be like to stay the winter in Bunnyburrow. It was always cold and dreary. They got three or four big snows a season. It all inevitably melted and made it hell to get around, on slushy roads in an old truck that wasn't even considered new when she was born. A lot of times, it would just rain. Not cold enough for it to be snow, but cold enough for it to be miserable. Cold enough that there would be no way for her and Nick to retreat to the threshing floor to get away from it all. It was drafty in the summer, and freezing in the winter. So there Judy would be, trapped inside with her big family.

There would be no privacy. Her parents were being extremely lenient with her and Nick, but they would have limits. Even if Judy was an adult, she was living under their roof, eating their food, raising their water bill. She would have to respect their decision, no matter how tough it was to follow. There would be no hanging around in Nick's room the whole season. It was one of the rooms with actual privacy in the Hopps farmhouse/burrow. Intended for visiting relations, particularly her grandparents. But they never visited, saying the farm was too busy for them in their old age. Yet, they wouldn't notice it was busy, in their room.

There was only one bed, and a window that looked out towards the front drive and Judy's garden. Old quilts folded and placed on every available surface, and an overwhelming amount of photos hanging from the walls. There was a door that locked, and heavy, floral curtains that could be drawn over the windows. So, of course, Judy would not be allowed to sit in there alone with Nick. With the door closed, who knew what they would get up to! Judy never did more than hold his paw, and Nick had not kissed her since he had pecked the top of her head on the train platform almost a month and a half ago. It was pointless to convince her parents otherwise, and Judy firmly believed that they would be saying the exact same thing if Nick was just any old bunny. They thought of her as their little girl, and so the door would stay open.

She had left Zootopia to be with her family, in a setting that was completely untouched by the stain of her police work. For a while, Judy was happy with that. Farm work was distracting and tiring, and it did a good job at driving away her thoughts of self-loathing and guilt. It was hard to have nightmares when you were too tired to dream. You stopped seeing blood on your hands when they were covered in dirt instead. So much had happened since she first stepped off the train into Bunnyburrow six months ago, and she was starting to feel unsatisfied with everything that was going on around her. It wasn't enough. She was restless, and it had all crept upon her very quickly. She didn't know how it happened, but Judy found herself daydreaming about bigger things, bigger places. Always with Nick at her side. The farm had given her her first happy moments in almost a year, but now it couldn't even capture her attention for more than two minutes.

Disconcerting thoughts were running through her head. Luckily, Bunnyburrow had a lot going on in October. It distracted her from big issues. Instead, she was concerned with how delicious she could get her blueberry crumble, or thinking obsessively over what design she would paint on her potato. You see, it wasn't about artistic expression. It was mostly about winning, and getting a huge ribbon for her work.

She wasn't the only one worrying about these inane things. Some of her family were worrying about things even less significant. Addie was in a conniption over the variance of flavor between two jars of her rhubarb jam. She had given up on deciding which of her apricot was best: one jar was sitting resignedly on the kitchen counter, victor only because Davie had picked it out once Addie looked like she was about to cry over it. Davie himself swore that he was submitting a masterpiece in basket weaving, a statement which he had yet to follow up on. Bonnie was doing needlepoint, and Lee had been slaving over dress designs ever since last October, creating the costumes for a play. Judy fully believed that if she went outside around midnight, she could find her dad whispering lovingly to his pumpkins, trying to get them to grow larger and larger.

The Harvest Days Festival was only two weeks away, and submissions for all the competitions were due in one week. The Hopps family was scrambling, trying to get everything done in time. It was all serious business. First prize in any competition meant bragging rights, and the choice over what was going to be had for dinner. In a family as large as the Hoppses, there could be many first place winners, but that did not take the glamour off the prospect of a win. The minimal cash prize was also a nice thought, even if there wasn't much to spend it on in Bunnyburrow, even if the most you could get was no more than seventy-five bucks. It was serious business. Almost every pair of paws was working hard to create something worthy of a blue ribbon.

Even Nick wasn't immune. Despite his bad experience in town at the farmer's market, he was pretty eager about it all. Once someone had filled him in on what the Harvest Days Festival, he decided he would enter something as well. Nick could be competitive if he wanted to, Judy even more so. She hoped he would enter the same competition as her, if only so she could come out on top. But Nick just couldn't decide what he should enter in the fair. There were a lot of competitions to choose from. Photography, crocheting, even making things out of duct tape— there was a dizzying array of options.

"You better decide soon," said her dad, over a bucket of peeled potatoes one night. Nick had been on the farm for so long that Stu could meet his eyes without grimacing. She was proud of her parents for their baby steps. They would understand, some day. Nick was helping her dad prepare dinner, knife in hand, a pile of potatoes at his feet. Judy was seated on the counter, pretending to be useful. Occasionally, she would duck down to pick a stray peel off the floor, to be put in the compost pile later. That was about all she did. "Only four days until entries are due."

"I think he should sing a song," said Judy nonchalantly. Nick could glare daggers, too.

Stu looked delighted over his half-peeled potato. "Nick can sing? You could be in Lee's stage play!" Judy tried not to look as delighted as her father. The fact that he could even mention something about Nick spending time with his children made her want to break out into song herself.

"I can't sing," said Nick. "Don't believe a word your daughter says."

"Go on, sing a few bars for us!" Stu was gesturing wildly with his potato peeler.

"No, no."

Lee, whose hearing was shockingly good, called out from across the kitchen. "Maybe Nick could submit a picture." She waggled her eyebrows at Judy. Judy crossed her arms and tried her best to look unimpressed. Yet it was still a good time to make fun of Nick.

"Nick likes all those oldies you do, Dad," Judy said. "He's got this huge cassette collection and everything."

"What? He's not old enough for that! Are you, son?"

Nick was trying hard not to smile, she could tell. He still protested to the teasing, though. It was a matter of principle. "I think I'll paint a potato," he said loudly. As he spoke, he tossed a long spiral of potato skin behind him, nailing Judy in the eye. It was good aim, for him not even looking back at her. However, she preferred to think it was just a lucky throw. Through a one-eyed glare, she was disappointed, yet extremely happy, to see her dad laughing at Nick's antics. They were all trying to get along, and it was a beautiful sight. Her eye stung, but she still found herself grinning widely.

Even Bonnie was putting forth effort to include the fox she had once tried so hard to exclude and keep far away from Judy. When her mom wasn't putting the finishing touches on her elaborate needlepoint, she was bent over the kitchen table with Nick, whispering with him and gesturing at a piece of paper. Whenever Judy got close, she leaned even further over the sheet, not allowing her daughter a single glance at the, presumably, potato design. They looked thick as thieves, working out their thoughts over the notebook paper. Bonnie had not even _offered_ to help with Judy's potato.

"It's a good one," her mom told her, as they were washing dishes one night. Washing dishes at their house was a mammoth task, and they managed it with several sinks, an elaborate assembly line, and a terrifying amount of dish towels. Judy and Bonnie were both toweling off the dishes, making sure no food was still stuck on them and putting them in their proper slots in their proper cabinets. Judy hit her mom's arm with her towel. It didn't actually hurt her, but it made a satisfying noise as it knocked against her. Bonnie rolled her eyes, unimpressed. "I think it might even be a winner."

Judy scoffed. She was overdramatic in all her gestures. She was spending too much time with Nick. Or maybe she was destined to be in Lee's play. She talked in her best impression of her younger sister. "Yeah, okay. I guess my potato doesn't even matter! Don't even help your own daughter. Gosh!"

She expected laughter, or at least a snort at her statement. Judy thought she could be funny sometimes, and this was definitely one of those times. Her mother, apparently, did not feel the same way. Bonnie was suddenly very quiet next to her. Motionless, too. It was like she was petrified. A bunny in the headlights, if you will. Judy wondered if she said something wrong, but before she could ask, her mom finally spoke. She spoke like the words were hard to get out, haltingly and quiet. Judy still heard them. "I just thought it would be nice to sit down and spend some time with your… boyfriend."

Judy would have said that Nick wasn't her boyfriend. That they didn't do anything unseemly, that he was too respectful of her parent's wishes and her own to do more besides kiss the top of her head, or put his arm around her waist. But there was so much softness in her mom's eyes, so much understanding, that Judy forgot about all that. There was a lump in her throat that hadn't been there a second ago. "Oh, Mom!" she cried, throwing her arms around Bonnie, hugging her tightly. Her mom shouted, for good reason too. There was a wet dish towel clutched in Judy's paw, and it was dripping cold, sudsy water down the back of her shirt. It was certainly surprising, but she got over it quickly, hugging her daughter back. "Thank you," Judy said.

Bonnie spoke into her daughter's neck. "I won't say that I'm completely comfortable with it."

"Mom—"

"I wasn't finished, Judy. I'm not completely comfortable with it, because I'm scared of how other mammals will feel about your feelings for Nick."

"I'm prepared for it."

"I know you're strong. You're the strongest mammal I know." Bonnie pulled away from Judy, holding her at arm's length. The understanding in her eyes— the same color of blue-violet that Judy saw whenever she looked into the mirror— was still there, and she wasn't even sure what it was for. For Nick? Or maybe her mom always guessed why Judy had come home. Her mom was not totally ignorant. She read the newspapers, she would have seen the articles about Starkey, the less gory pictures of Poppy Glenn that the press got a hold of. Maybe Bonnie understood it all, from the very start. Why her daughter had come home, and why she had been so broken. Or perhaps Bonnie was just thinking about Nick. Judy would never know. "You are strong, but there are cruel mammals in this world that will try to break you. Remember that."

"I will."

"And remember that I'll always be here, no matter what other mammals say. No matter how they try to tear you down."

Her eyes were very wet. "Thanks, mom," she said. Judy could feel her siblings' eyes on her back, and she didn't even care.

The days before the Harvest Days Festival passed quickly. There was covert potato painting, out of Nick's eye and earshot. Bonnie said Nick's design was a winner, but Judy was pretty confident about hers. There was experimenting with her blueberry crumble, in which there was no way she could ever avoid Nick. He was consistently over her shoulder, popping blueberries into his mouth, sticking his finger into her dough so he could have a taste, and generally making a nuisance of himself. He got many a slap on the paw. They spent time in his bedroom, with the door open of course, laying on the floor and talking about nothing in particular. Judy did not talk about her plans, and Nick didn't talk about his, either.

The weather was temperate enough now to just lay outside during the daylight hours. The grass in the backyard was in the process of dying a slow death, and was crunchy and unpleasant underfoot. But it was nice enough if Judy laid out a thick blanket first. And then there were lazy days under the autumn sun, Nick's back against her front, curled up together. Sometimes she would bring her phone and earbuds, and they would just waste hours like that. Nick learned to love Gazelle, and she learned to tolerate his new wave nonsense.

They hadn't ever been this close. Not even before Starkey. Not the week before Judy had left, when she had tried her best to be affectionate and loving with Nick. Not even immediately after their uncovering of the Bellwether plot, when they had something between them which Clawhauser affectionately called the "honeymoon period". Judy had never been comfortable enough to wrap her arms around Nick's middle and pull him closer, to nose at the ruff of fur around his neck. Now she was. She never would have dared to snatch the sunglasses off his snout, just to see his dopey grin in response, an expression which could only be described as "lovestruck". Now she was more than confident enough to slide the shades off of him while he was dozing, keeping the overlarge frames on her face until he was awake enough to realize that the sun was starting to sting at his eyes. Instead of being uncomfortable at that show of affection, Nick would scrunch up his snout at her, take the shades back, and snuggle up closer to her. Bliss.

The days were not separate or regimented. Since the yield was all in, Judy had nothing better to do than sit with Nick, or lay with Nick, or squat in her garden and _think_. When she thought, it was all worrying.

Judy had built up this life for herself, and it didn't feel like it was enough anymore. There was nothing fulfilling about her garden, though it was doing remarkably well in the rapidly cooling weather. She would never say it, but quiet nights with Addie in their little pantry weren't enjoyable anymore. She couldn't keep her eyes on her books, and the clicking of her sister's needles distracted her constantly. Interestingly enough, she was getting along better with Lee. This was because Lee wanted to know all about Nick, and she was willing to do Judy's makeup in exchange for information. And Judy was very willing to talk about Nick now. Bonnie had called him her boyfriend, and it was like the floodgates had opened. If everyone thought of him that way, why shouldn't she let herself feel that way too? She allowed herself to babble and get her eyeliner drawn on.

Still, none of it was fulfilling anymore. There was momentary feelings of accomplishment after cleaning under her bed, or helping Nick dust his room. Sometimes when she helped her dad cook a meal, she felt good about staying. But that feeling quickly fled, and she was left wanting more. And it was scary to think about where she could go, and find that _more_ she was searching for. She knew the answer, but it was terrifying to even mention it. There were bad memories, and people there who might still hate her for leaving, or blame her for what had happened to Poppy Glenn. But Judy Hopps was still Judy Hopps, and she yearned to make the world a better place.

She had done a decent job of healing out in Bunnyburrow, and sometimes she felt that she could move onto the rest of the world. Give the whole hero thing another try, a better try. The thought of Zootopia and leaving was always lingering somewhere in the back of her head. A tempting offer, and a transition she could probably weather with Nick at her side. She knew he would follow her, and that was why she allowed herself to dwell on the thought occasionally. It was very appealing, at times.

Judy loved her family, but it was like when she left them for the first time: there was opportunity further along. Two hundred and eleven miles away, to be exact. Her parents and her siblings would always hold a place in her heart, but Judy was a dreamer. It wasn't in her nature to stay in a place that never changed, that never gave her an opportunity to feel extensively, and to use that for the greater good. Carrots wouldn't do that, not for Judy. She didn't need to make any decisions soon, though. There was time, all the time in the world.

Judy could actually plan it all out this time, and not run off, doing everything recklessly. She could plan what she would say to Bogo, to beg for her job back. And she could lay out other options for herself. It hurt to give up her dream, even though she had done it willingly, but there were other paths to making the world a better place for all mammals. She had her BA in Criminal Justice, and she could go anywhere from there. She could go into local government, improve Zootopia through campaigns and speeches. She could take out loans, take the time to get a law degree. The court system had failed her, with the Starkey case. Judy could make it work for her. No matter what she did, she could have Nick as her supporting system. And she could be his, for whatever he did next.

They had all been looking forward to the Harvest Days Festival, but it kind of snuck up on Judy. She was so preoccupied with her own thoughts, so caught up with what she had with Nick that she was surprised when Davie knocked on her head with his fist one morning to wake her up. She was especially groggy, having stayed up late with Nick the night before. There was an important conversation about the true meaning behind Gazelle's masterpiece, "Let It Goat", that she couldn't have possibly passed up. Before she could notice she was tired, it was three in the morning, and Nick had driven her out of his room, not wanting to risk a confrontation with her parents. She had dragged her tail down into the burrows, to her room. She had stumbled on a few things on her way in, making a good bit of noise. That was probably why Davie had been waking her up so rudely. He really liked his beauty sleep.

"Wake up," he said, frowning down at her. Her big brother had a face for smiling, his whole litter did. That was why Addie was so kind natured, it just seemed fundamentally impossible to make her frown. Davie looked funny when he frowned, and Judy had to resist a snort as he tapped his foot impatiently.

"What time is it?" She asked, solemnly. Straight faced. If she spoke any other way, she might have started laughing. Davie wouldn't appreciate that, not at all.

"Fair starts in, like, thirty minutes. Mom told me I should let you sleep, but your boyfriend looked pitiful. And so I took pity on him."

Judy smiled at his description of Nick, but still told him, "Not my boyfriend!" He clearly didn't believe her. He just blew out a big gust of air, pivoted on his foot, and started walking out of the burrowed room. "Can't wait to see your basket!" She called. Davie didn't respond. Bunnies didn't need _that_ much sleep, Judy thought he had no rights to be so grumpy. All the men in her life were so dramatic.

She pulled on the first clean shirt she saw, and frowned as she pulled on a pair of jeans that didn't have too much dirt on their seat. She owned too much plaid. Even Nick wasn't immune to the allures of it: she had spotted two or three folded up shirts in his suitcases. He still hadn't unpacked them fully. Judy idly wondered if this meant anything as she buttoned up her flannel. Then she sprinted out of her room, up the tunnel, and into the house. She didn't want to get left behind. She also wanted to test if she could still do it, if she was as fast as she was before she came to Bunnyburrow. She was, though she was certainly less attentive. She didn't barrel into Nick, but it was a close thing. He grabbed her shoulders with strong paws, stopping her from pitching forward.

He didn't comment on her running. "Ready?" He asked. She nodded. It didn't make much sense to be in a hurry. The Hoppses always said they would spend a few hours at the Harvest Days Festival, and that was _it_. But they always ended up spending a longer time there the first time, and several bunnies always made their way back two or three times after the excursion. And of course, they had a fruit stand erected at the Festival. Luckily, Nick and Judy had been exempt from running that, so they would be able to have plenty of fun instead of working the whole time. Judy and Nick hurried outside. It was a good idea to be early for the Harvest Days, even if Judy knew she would end up going at least four times. For a rural community, Bunnyburrow still had a very large population, and there was no telling how busy the fair would get.

There was no way for the whole Hopps family to ride in one truck, so most everyone who was going was walking to the event. Fortunately, Nick, amongst all his tinkering and skulking about around the threshing floor, had found an old bicycle which he had fixed up. It was an ugly shade of orange, with a banana seat and high handlebars. Addie had been its primary user, riding it to close neighbors' houses and offering them her failed batches of jam, or at least, failed in her eyes. They were still good, of course, and if she left home with a full basket of apricot jam, she would always come home with an empty basket. Addie had left for the fair an hour earlier, since she was working the produce stand opening day, so Nick had free reign over his project. Judy was grateful. She was certainly capable of walking all the way into town, but a bicycle would make it quicker, and her feet wouldn't ache as badly at the end of the day.

Judy tossed her leg over the side of the bike, and situated herself on the bike seat.

"Where am I supposed to sit?" Nick asked. He shook his head. "This is my creation, Carrots." Judy patted her lap invitingly, but Nick wasn't having any of that. "Get your paws off the handles," he said, knocking them off as he said it. He clambered up onto the handlebars, with no small amount of difficulty. He made sure he was seated safely, cleared his throat, then said imperiously, "Ride!"

Never let it be said that Judy Hopps was bad at following orders. She took off, perhaps faster than Nick expected. He grabbed onto the handlebars tightly, and made a noise which was a little bit like a choked off screech. Judy laughed. The roads weren't smooth in Bunnyburrow, but they weren't overly rough. There were a few bumps as she sped towards town, and Nick made a distressed noise every time the bike rockeed, or Judy blinked. He kept his eyes on her the whole time. It was distracting, but she still kept her gaze ahead.

"I won't let you fall," she told him. He grimaced, but nodded, understanding. He still clung grimly to the handlebars, and squeezed his eyes tightly shut every time he was jarred the slightest bit from his perch. He also let out little peeps, yells that he was attempting to keep inside. She thought he was brave, for staying on and not telling her to stop. But he was also a bit of a wuss.

The fair was already astonishingly busy when Judy and Nick arrived. The fox climbed shakily off the handlebars, then breathlessly let the bunny know that he would never be doing that again. She laughed at him, but turned her face away from him so he wouldn't see her outright amusement. He would just hear it. She got off the bike herself, wrapped one arm around his waist, used the other to guide the bike forward as they walked. She would park it behind their produce stand, and Addie could keep watch over it as long as they stayed. Nick tried to shrug out of her grasp as they approached the crowds, but she kept her paw right on him.

"Let them look," she said to him.

"Are you willing to put up with all this?" Nick asked quietly, motioning at the mass of farming animals all around. They were giving them some strange looks. Two city slickers, one dressed in old flannel like she belonged. Pushing a disgustingly orange bike, arm in arm. A fox and a bunny. Judy knew Nick was thinking of their last experience with this crowd, how she had tried to drive him away immediately after. That wouldn't happen again. She pulled him closer.

"For you? Anything."

Nick laughed. "Ew," he said. He was smiling widely, apparently ready for Judy to show him off to the rest of town. They had come a long way. He let Judy tote him along, to where Addie and a few of her younger siblings were running the produce stand. Judy's older sister nodded in greeting, too busy to talk, very involved in a bargaining match with a forceful sheep. She looked up and down at Judy, and smiled slightly at what she saw. She nodded again, as if to say, 'Keep it up'. Judy quickly handed off the bike to two of her younger brothers, who immediately began squabbling over it. She walked back over to Nick, put her paws on her hips.

"What do you want to do first?" she asked him.

"I've never been to one of these things," Nick said. "You'll have to show me around."

She did her best. It was a relatively small fair, nothing compared to the one you could find in Deerbuck County, or further out west. There weren't even rides, not a ferris wheel or anything. But they made do. They walked through all the games. Nick was spectacularly bad at balloon darts. Judy did much better than him, not that it was a competition, and won him a large carrot. It was very satisfying that he had to tote the big thing around for the rest of the day.

"Can't we drop it off with Addie?"

"And have my little brothers destroy it?" Judy brought up a paw to her chest, faking hurt. " _My_ gift?"

He grumbled, but he kept the unwieldy thing under his arm. They messed around with basketballs, and went over to the dunk tank. The pair of them quickly decided that the tank was rigged. Judy had a strong arm, stronger than Nick's, and she couldn't get the target to even move. Most definitely rigged. They ate heavily salted popcorn, and gnawed on a candy apple together. At Nick's insistence, she purchased a bag of blue cotton candy, which stuck disgustingly to the fur on her paws. He was happy enough eating it, though. They didn't have the type of fair to have deep fried everything, which is what Nick automatically associated with a county fair. He was sadly disappointed when she told him no, he could not have a deep fried candy bar. Nick was impressed, surprisingly, with the large vegetables all lined up behind Woodlands Elementary, each with a ribbon taped to it.

"I've never seen anything so big!" He said, excitingly. "Look at the size of that thing."

"Are you really that impressed? Nick, we work with elephants."

"It's still so big! Where's your dad's?"

"Looks like his wasn't big enough to get shown."

Nick frowned. He seemed strangely concerned for her father's pumpkin. "He was so excited about it, though."

"That's his fault, for growing them part way in the shade. It's a shame, but he'll do better next year."

"A shame," Nick repeated. "You know, I like your dad, Carrots."

She snorted. "Really?"

"He's a little goofy, sure. But he's a good guy."

"I'm sure he would appreciate that. While we're on the subject, how do you feel about my mom?"

"I don't think she likes me very much."

Judy shook her head slowly, recalling an embrace with her mother, sudsy paws dripping water all down her back. "You might be surprised, Nick."

"Huh." That was all he said.

"Yep." Judy put a hand on her hip, and shook her head again, this time at the gourd in front of her. It sounded like Nick wanted a subject change. "This isn't even the biggest pumpkin I've seen. The Pfeffers grew one twice this size the year before I left for the Academy."

He stared at the pumpkin in front of him, shaking his head with disbelief. They spent a lot of time walking through the hallways and classrooms of Woodlands Elementary. School things like multiplication tables and babyish weather charts were pinned up on the walls, barely covered with sheets decorated with smiling carrots and horns of plenty. The school was let out early on Thursday, and would be utilized by the Festival for the long weekend. It was one of the biggest buildings in Bunnyburrow, so it was as good a place as any to set up the exhibition. Judy and Nick spent a long time looking at all the crafty things that had been submitted for judging.

There were a few items with first place ribbons attached, name tags reading "Hopps" stuck to the side or in front of the object. Bonnie's needlepoint, which depicted a tangle of wildflowers under the shade of a tree. A can of Addie's rhubarb jam, half full after the judges were done with it. There were other prizes besides first. Not as impressive as a pretty blue ribbon, but still worth touching upon. Davie's "masterpiece" of a basket was functional, even if it wasn't beautiful. It earned itself a big, red second place ribbon. A finger painting by one of her littler siblings had won third. Disappointingly, Judy's blueberry crumble had only won an honorable mention. Nick patted her shoulder consolingly.

"Don't worry," he said. "I enjoyed it."

"I guess that's all that matters," Judy replied, only a touch sarcastically. She did value his opinion greatly. But she was a competitive creature, and also appreciated ribbons, cash prizes, and full bragging rights. Nick didn't move his paw from her shoulder.

Unfortunately, she had very good hearing. They were on the other side of the room, by an illustrated poster about the months of the year. A cruel conversation to be having in front of such a cheery display.

"Look at that. They aren't even trying to hide it!"

"She's got no shame."

A laugh. "Right? Who ever would have thought?"

"You know, June told me about it." She could imagine a smirk, tilting up the corners of an unpleasantly thin mouth. Small towns liked to talk, but this was ridiculous. At the farmer's market, Judy had never stood closer than two feet from Nick. What could that busybody of a pig possibly gotten from that? "I didn't want to believe it."

"I know! Little Miss Moral, with a pred of all things."

She turned her head a bit to get a look at the two mammals. She caught a glance: a bunny, light in coloring, and a squat pony. They were familiar, but she could not quite place their names. She had probably gone to high school with them, since they were calling her "Little Miss Moral" behind her back. That was a fun little nickname she had to deal with during her teenage years, from other girls who thought Judy was a little bit too preachy.

Though neither was trying very hard to keep their voices down, they still had not noticed that Judy had heard them. The duo continued on with their conversation, detailing just exactly what they thought about a bunny and a fox together. Sparing no detail about how and why they thought it was against nature, an abomination. Uncaring whether or not Judy and Nick heard, it seemed, nor the younger mammals that were milling about through the room. She was well aware that their thinking was very common, if not so snottily spoken. They were wrong, and ignorant, but it still smarted. Nick, once he heard the two, quickly dropped his paw from her shoulder.

"Don't pay them any mind," Judy said. Nick was standing stiffly, uncomfortable. She would fix that. She raised her eyebrows at Nick, first, a gesture that she hoped he would interpret well: she was going to make a scene. It would not change the bunny and the pony's view of them whatsoever, but it gave them an escape route other than walking out of the room shamefaced, with their eyes averted. It's not like the two would do anything at something like a public display of affection, she was sure. Nick understood, nodding quickly. He wanted out just as bad as she did. Then Judy spoke, and the other two mammals across the room stopped their gossiping. "Wanna get out of here?" She asked loudly, throwing an arm around his middle. They thought Judy and Nick together was obscene, and so Judy would make it seem that way. At least, as obscene as she was comfortable making it in a public place filled with children. When her parents might hear about it later.

"God, _yes_ ," he replied, somewhat throatier than necessary, but just the right amount of loud. He understood completely, and Judy had to suppress a fit of giggles at his tone. She grabbed his paw like it was a lifeline, holding it to her chest. Then, she looked across the room to where the offending bunny and pony were standing, mean looking with their paws and hooves on their hips. Kits and colts at their sides, and Judy was suddenly even more indignant. They were passing that sort of behavior down to their kids! She locked eyes with the two women, smiled most sardonically, and kissed the back of Nick's paw. She dragged the fox out of the room like she was on a mission, which was exactly what the wanted them to think. _Let them talk_ , she thought savagely.

They tore out of the building together, and once firmly outside, dropped the ruse. Nick laughed loudly, dropping Judy's paw so that he could clap at her performance.

"Outstanding," he cried. "A phenomenal presentation!"

"Shh," Judy intoned, holding a finger over her mouth. He was continuing the scene she had started inside, when they didn't necessarily need that. She grabbed Nick's paw again so she could drag him away from the entrance to the school, drawing him into the shade on the side of the building. They were practically enclosed, school on her right, a tent erected on her left. It formed a little alleyway smelling strongly of peanuts, since that what was being sold in the tent. Nick leaned against the wall of the school, but let Judy keep a hold on his paw while he did it.

"What's gotten into you, Carrots?" He asked, amused.

She shrugged. "Just wanted to get out of there, I guess."

"Well, yeah. _Duh_." His thumb was rubbing idle patterns on the back of her paw as he watched her carefully. She wished she had a wall behind her as well, something to support her legs, which were feeling a little bit like jelly. "But there's something else. You've been acting a little different the past few weeks. What're you thinking about?"

"It doesn't matter." She rocked slowly on her feet, almost wishing she had a jacket. It was sort of cool in the shade of the school, even with her flannel on. They had been at the Festival for a while, and a chilly autumn evening was quickly approaching. Judy wondered if Nick would be adverse to her stepping closer for a little more warmth, and did just that. She rested her head on his chest. She also wondered if she could tell Nick what she had been thinking of. He had uprooted his life, just as she had, and with more personal loss. He wasn't the one who had completely given up on his life, he just followed someone who did. Judy was sure he would be averse to doing the same thing, no more than six months later.

"Hey, Carrots," he said, in a tone he probably thought was very convincing. She thought it could use some work. She loved the fox, but she still had some defenses up. It wouldn't be so easy to get her to reveal everything. "Judy. Tell me what you're thinking." He looked at her, did not break his gaze with hooded eyelids or sarcastically raised brows. He looked at her calmly, fully expecting that she would tell him what he wanted to know. Sure that she would deliver on her promise, and stop bottling everything up.

He was right, of course. She couldn't resist those green eyes. And she saw what had happened the last time she kept all her emotions inside. There was no benefit to it. "I want to go home."

"What, to the farmhouse?" He breathed out a shaky sigh, like he was expecting something much more dramatic to fall out of her mouth. He didn't know the full extent of it: the dramatics were on the way. "Let's go get the bike, then. You can ride on the handlebars this time."

She pulled herself away from him, stepping back from where she had had her head resting against his chest. "No, that's not what I mean." His thumb stopped its rubbing, and he was silent. Judy couldn't tell what he was thinking, even though his eyes were visible. But he had definitely caught something of her meaning. Shades off, folded over the collar of his tee shirt. She didn't even breathe, waiting to see what he would say. She didn't know if he was shocked, or disappointed, or sad. Eventually, she had to speak again, if only to break the terse silence. "Not now," she said. "It would take a lot of planning, a few weeks. Months. I think I'm ready."

"Are you sure?" Nick asked. It was a loaded statement. Of course Judy wasn't sure! There were so many things to think about, so many events and opportunities to compare. There were benefits to staying in Bunnyburrow, different ones for making the journey back to Zootopia. She had experienced horrible things in Zootopia, seen things that no mammal should ever see. Personally victimized by a twisted killer, stalked and tormented for months and months, no end in sight. She had never been further from those she loved, even though they were sitting in the passenger seat of her car, no more than a foot away. There was no help, no aid, no balm to ease the pain of what she had been through.

Yet while the city was all those things, it was also the symbol of all her hopes. It was a place where anyone could be anything, where she could really make the world a better place. She was willing to give it another shot.

Judy told Nick all this and more. She was ready to face the challenges of the city again. Prepared to sleep in a decrepit apartment, work her way up the rungs of whatever job she got. Of course, the goal was to be a police officer. That had always been the goal, but Bogo was not a buffalo who was quick to forgive. Judy told Nick all the half-thoughts she had had about her future in Zootopia. She would go to school, become a student-lawyer-city council member-social activist. Anything was possible. It was Zootopia, and she could be anything. She could find something like happiness. Be successful, something her parents would be proud of. Something that might justify what she had gone through, and what Poppy Glenn had once suffered.

She even spoke to Nick about her plans with him. Vague, fleeting dreams she was spinning into sentences. Sleep in a decrepit apartment with him at her side. Pursue success along with him, both of them shaping their world into a better form than it was when they found it. They would lend each other strength, get through the long nights and days together. They would not forget what had happened to them, between them, but that would just make them closer. The odds were stacked against them, but they wouldn't let the threat stand. They would face it and break it down, opening new opportunities and chances at a triumph. And maybe they could have a little window box, growing some herbs inside. The world was her oyster, she just had to put forth the effort to crack the thing open.

"So," she said, "what do you think?" She spread her paws, a little helplessly. She had no idea what the fox was going to say. She had thrown herself out there, all her thoughts and aspirations. She was his, and he could do with her what he pleased. With one statement, he could make her heart soar, or send it plummeting to the earth. No matter what Judy did, she wanted Nick by her side. If he didn't want to go back, she wouldn't. It was simple as that. She considered closing her eyes tight, if only to shield herself from what could have been coming.

But she didn't need to be scared. Nick hesitated, but only for a beat.

"I think that I'd follow you anywhere, Judy Hopps."

"Oh, Nick," she said, though it was more of a sigh than a sentence.

"I mean it."

"I know you do." She was chilly in the shade, it was true. But she was glad to be in this hidden spot. There were no prying eyes, and no wagging tongues. Judy could step as close to Nick as she liked. She could wrap her arms around him, one around his waist, another around his neck. She could guide him down, tilt her head up, and press a small kiss to his mouth. She figured now was as good a time to say it as any. After all, he had already said it to her. She kept her face close to his, and said, quietly, "I love you."

"Yeah, yeah," Nick mumbled, pressing himself against the wall of the school and pushing Judy slightly. She stepped back, and he pulled himself out of his lean. He put an arm around her shoulders, drew her in close, and began to walk, guiding them out of the little alley way created by the elementary school and the peanut stand. She was smiling hugely, and she knew that if she looked up, Nick would have a similar expression on his face. Judy wondered if everyone would be able to tell what had just happened. She wondered if every mammal who saw her would know that she had just found her happiness. "We still have a lot to see, Carrots."

* * *

 _ **A/N:** Thanks for reading!_


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